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kUMTED STATES OF AMElflcl! 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 



SELECTIONS 



AMEBICAN AUTHORS. 



A HEADING BOOK FOR 



SCHOOL AND HOME. 



FRANKLIN, ADAMS, COOPER, LONaFELLOW. 



EDITED RY 

SAMUEL ELIOT, 

SLTERINTEUDENT OF PUBLIC SCHOOLS, BOSTON. 



«-S OF -C/,'0^^?>^^ 



■P-O ,.^, 



NEW YORK: 

TAINTOR BROTHERS, MERRILL & CO. 

758 Broadway. 



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A 



Copyright, 1879, 
Bt TAINTOR brothers, MERRILL & CO. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 

ELECTROTTPED AND PRINTED BY 

11. 0. IIOUOHTOX AND COMPANY 






\M PUBLISHERS^ NOTICE. - 

^ ■ 

In many of the reports of prominent school super- 
intendents, which have come to our notice, it is recom- 
mended that the series of reading books in use in the 
schools be supplemented by miscellaneous books of 
history, poetry, biography, fiction, etc. This growing 
demand for supplementary reading material for public 
and private schools, of a different character from what 
is to be found in any series of school readers, has led to 
the publication of tliis volume. 

It was more directly suggested by the following, 
which we quote from the report (1878) of Samuel 
Eliot, LL.D., Superintendent of Schools, Boston : " We 
not only want more reading books, but different ones ; 
not readers, not fragments of writings, but writings 
however brief, — a story or a history, a book of travels 
or a poem, — associated as vividly as possible with the 
author who wrote them." 

While many good books might be selected from those 
already published, nearly all of them contain more or 
less material not suited to the object in view. It is 
believed that a book prepared with special reference 
to school use will be found in every respect better 



VI PUBLISHERS' NOTICE. 

adapted to tlie purpose, as well as more available on 
the score of economy. Dr. Eliot, upon request, kindly 
consented to select and prepare the material, declining 
any pecuniaiy comj^ensation therefor. 

It is confidently hoped that his familiarity with the 
wants of the schools and his thorough knowledge of 
the best available literature have secured selections 
acceptable to those who have given special attention 
to the subject of supplementary reading. 

TAINTOR BROTHERS, MERRILL & CO. 

New York, April 25, 1879. 



PEEFACE. 



This volume differs from an ordinary Reader in 
being made up of continuous passages. Its use is in- 
tended to increase the taste for reading, and with that 
the power to read, both at school and at home. If it 
is read by a pupil as it should be, it will make him 
want to read the works from which it is taken, and 
other works of kindred excellence. It can be read by 
the fireside without a teacher, and still lead to the same 
desire for good books of every name. The love of 
readino- is the end in view. s! E. 



CONTEISTTS. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF BENJAMIN FKANKLIN. 
FAMILIAPw LETTERS OF JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 
THE SPY. 

TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

^^Peelude. The Wayside Inn ....... 3 

"^Landlord's Tale, '^aul Reveue's Ride .... 13 
v/Sicilian's Tale. *fCiNG Robert of Sicily . , .17 

V Poet's Tale. 'The Birds of Killingworth ... 25 
Finale ............ 32 

PART SECOND. Prelude ....... 33 

Sicilian's Tale. The Bell of Atri . . . . .33 

V Poet's Tale. Lady Wentwortii ...... 42 

(/Theologian's Tale. The Legend Beautiful . . .47 
•^Student's Tale. The Baron of St. Castine . . '. 52 

Finale ............ 61 

PART THIRD. Prelude .63 

Theologian's Tale. Elizabeth .64 

Finale .... 77 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 



Franklin was the most widely known American of his time, when 
he began this account of his life in 1771. lie continued it in .1784 and 
1788. The following pages contain almost all the first part of the au- 
tobiography, and more than a third of the whole. 



BEJ:^[JAMIN" FRAJS[KLIR 



From the poverty and obscurity in which I was 
born, and in which I passed my earliest years, I have 
raised myself to a state of affluence and some degree 
of celebrity in the world. As constant good fortune 
has accompanied me, even to an advanced period of 
life, my posterity will perhaps be desirous of learn- 
ing the means which I employed, and which, thanks 
to Providence, so well succeeded with me. They 
may also deem them fit to be imitated, should any 
of them find themselves in similar circumstances. • 

This good fortune, when I reflect on it, which is 
frequently the case, has induced me sometimes to say, 
that, if it were left to my choice, I should have no 
objection to go over the same life from its beginning 
to the end ; requesting only the advantage authors 
have of correcting in a second edition the faults of 
the first. So would I also wish to change some inci- 
dents of it for others more favorable. Notwith- 
standing, if this condition was denied, I should still 
accept the offer of recommencing the same life. But 
as this repetition is not to be exj)ected, that which 
resembles most living one's life over again seems to 



14 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

be to recall all the circumstances of it ; and, to ren- 
der this remembrance more durable, to record them 
in writing. 

In thus employing myself I shall yield to the incli- 
nation, so natural to old men, of talking of themselves 
and their own actions ; and I shall indulge it without 
being tiresome to those who, from respect to jny age, 
might conceive themselves obliged to listen to me, 
since they will be always free to read me or not. 
And, lastly (I may as well confess it, as the denial of 
it would be believed by nobody), I shall perhaps not 
a little gratify my own vanity. Indeed, I never heard 
or saw the introductory words, " Without vanity I 
may say," etc., but some vain thing immediately fol- 
lowed. Most people dislike vanity in others, what- 
ever share they have of it themselves ; but I give it 
fair quarter wherever I meet with it, being persuaded 
that it is often productive of good to the possessor, 
and to others who are within his sphere of action ; and 
therefore in many cases it would not be altogether 
absurd, if a man were to thank God for his vanity 
among the other comforts of life. 

And now I speak of thanking God, I desire with 
all humility to acknowledge, that I attribute the men- 
tioned happiness of my past life to his divine provi- 
dence, which led me to the means I used, and gave 
the success. My belief of this induces me to hoj^e, 
though I must not presume.^ that the same goodness 
will still be exercised towards me in continuing that 
happiness, or enabling me to bear a fatal reverse, 
which I may experience as others have done ; the 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 15 

complexion of my future fortune being known to him 
only, in whose power it is to bless us, even in our 
afflictions. 

My father married young, and carried his wife with 
three children to New England, about 1685. By the 
same wife my father had four children more born 
there, and by a second, ten others ; in all seventeen ; 
of whom I remember to have seen thirteen sitting to- 
gether at his table ; who all grew up to years of ma- 
turity and were married. I was the youngest son, 
and the youngest of all the children except two daugh- 
ters. I was born in Boston, in New England.^ jNIy 
mother, the second wife of my father, was Abiah Fol- 
ger, daughter of Peter Folger, one of the first settlers 
of New England ; of whom honorable mention is made 
by Cotton Mather in his ecclesiastical history of that 
country, as " a godly and learned Englishman," if I 
remember the words rightly. I was informed, he 
wrote several small occasional works, but only one of 
them was printed, which I remember to have seen 
several years since. It was written in 1675. It was 
in familiar verse, according to the taste of the times 
and people; and addressed to the government there. 
It asserts the liberty of conscience, in behalf of the 
Anabaptists, the Quakers, and other sectaries, that 
had been persecuted. He attributes to this persecu- 
tion the Indian wars, and other calamities that had 
befallen the country ; regarding them as so many 
judgments of God to punish so heinous an offence, 

^ January 6th, 1706, Old Style, being Sunday, and the same as Janu- 
ary 17th, New Style, in Milk Street, opposite to the Old South Church. 



16 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

and exhorting the repeal of those laws, so contrary to 
charity. This piece appeared to me as written with 
manly freedom, and a pleasing simplicity. The six 
last lines I remember, but have forgotten the preced- 
ing ones of the stanza ; the purport of them was, that 
his censures proceeded from good will, and therefore 
he would be known to be the author. 

" Because to be a libeller 

I hate it with my heart. 
From Sherbou Town i where now I dwell, 

My name I do put here ; 
Without offence your real friend, 

It is Peter Folger." 

My elder brothers were all put apprentices to dif- 
ferent trades. I was put to the grammar school at 
eight years of age ; my father intending to devote me, 
as the tithe of his sons, to the service of the church. 
My early readiness in learning to read, which must 
have been very early, as I do not remember when I 
could not read, and the opinion of all his friends, that 
I should certainly make a good scholar, encouraged 
him in this purpose of his. My uncle Benjamin too 
approved of it, and proposed to give me his shorthand 
volumes of sermons, to set up with, if I would learn 
his shorthand. I continued, however, at the grammar 
school rather less than a year, though in that time I 
had risen gradually from the middle of the class of 
that year to be at the head of the same class, and was 
removed into the next class, whence I was to be 
placed in the third at the end of the year. 
1 In the island of Nantucket. 



A UTOBIO GRAPHY. 1 7 

But my father, burdened with a numerous family, 
was unable without inconvenience to support the ex- 
pense of a college education. Considering, moreover, 
as he said to one of his friends in my presence, the 
little encouragement that line of life afforded to those 
educated for it, he gave up his first intentions, took 
me from the grammar school, and sent me to a school 
for writing and arithmetic, kept by a then famous 
man, Mr. George Brownwell. He was a skilful mas- 
ter, and successful in his profession, employing the 
mildest and most encouraging methods. Under him 
I learned to write a good hand pretty soon ; but I 
failed entirely in arithmetic. At ten years old I was 
taken to help my father in his business, which was 
that of a tallow-chandler and soap-boiler ; a business 
to which he was riot bred, but had assumed on his 
arrival in New England, because he found that his 
dyeing trade, being in little request, would not main- 
tain his family. Accordingly, I was employed in cut- 
ting wicks for the candles, filling the moulds for cast 
candles, attending the shop, going of errands, etc. 

I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination to 
go to sea ; but my father declared against it. But, 
residing near the water, I was much in it and on it. 
I learned to swim well, and to manage boats ; and, 
when embarked with other boys, I was commonly 
allowed to govern, especially in any case of difficulty; 
and upon other occasions I was generally the leader 
among the boys, and sometimes led them into scrapes, 
of which I will mention one instance, as it shows an 
early projecting public spirit, though not then justly 



18 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

conducted. There was a salt marsh, which bounded 
part of the mill-pond, on the edge of which, at liigh 
water, we used to stand to fish for minnows. By 
much trampling we had made it a mere qu;igmire. 
My proposal was to build a wharf there for us to stand 
upon, and I showed my comrades a large heap of 
stones, which were intended for a new house near the 
marsh, and which would very well suit our purpose. 
Accordingly in the evening, when the workmen were 
gone home, I assembled a number of my playfellows, 
and we worked diligently like so many emmets, some- 
times two or three to a stone, till we brought them all 
to make our little wharf. The next morning, the 
workmen were surprised at missing the stones, which 
had formed our wharf. Inquiry was made after the 
authors of this transfer ; we were discovered, com- 
plained of, and corrected by our fatliers ; and, though 
I demonstrated the utility of our work, mine convinced 
me that that which was not honest could not be truly 
useful. 

I suppose you may like to know what kind of a 
man my father was. He had an excellent constitu- 
tion, was of a middle stature, well set, and very strong. 
He could draw prettily, and was skilled a little in 
music. His voice was sonorous and agreeable, so that 
when he played on his violin, and sung withal, as he 
was accustomed to do after the business of the day 
was over, it was extremely agreeable to hear. He 
had some knowledge of mechanics, and on occasion 
was very handy with other tradesmen's tools. But 
his great excellence was his sound understanding, and 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 19 

his solid judgment in prudential matters, both in 
private and public affairs. It is true he was never 
employed in the latter, the numerous family he had 
to educate, and the straitness of his circumstances, 
keeping him close to his trade ; but I remember well 
his being frequently visited by leading men, who con- 
sulted him for his opinion in public affairs, and those 
of the church he belonged to ; and who showed a 
great respect for his judgment and advice. 

He was also much consulted by private persons 
about their affairs, when any difficulty occurred, and 
frequently chosen an arbitrator between contending 
parties. At his table he liked to have, as often as he 
could, some sensible friend or neighbor to converse 
with, and always took care to start some ingenious or 
useful topic for discourse, which might tend to im- 
prove the minds of his children. By this means he 
turned our attention to what was good, just, and pru- 
dent, in the conduct of life ; and little or no notice 
was ever taken of what related to the victuals on the 
table ; whether it was well or ill dressed, in or out of 
season, of good or bad flavor, preferable or inferior to 
this or that other thing .of the kind ; so that I was 
brought up in such a perfect inattention to those mat- 
ters, as to be quite indifferent what kind of food was 
set before me. Indeed, I am so unobservant of it, 
that to this day I can scarce tell a few hours after 
dinner of what dishes it consisted. This has been a 
great convenience to me in travelling, where my com- 
panions have been sometimes very unhappy for want 
of a suitable gratification of their more delicate, be- 
cause better instructed, tastes and appetites. 



20 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

INIy mother had likewise an excellent constitntion. 
I never knew either my father or mother to have any 
sickness, bnt that of which they died ; he at eighty- 
nine, and she at eighty-five years of age. They lie 
buried together at Boston, where I some years since 
placed a marble over their grave, with this inscrip- 
tion : — 

JOSIAH FRANKLIN 

and 

ABIAH his wife, 

Lie here interred. 

They lived lovingly together in wedlock, 

Fifty-five years ; 

And without an estate, or any gainful employment. 

By constant labor, and honest industry, 

(With God's blessing,) 

Maintained a large family comfortably; 

And brought up thirteen children and seven grandchildren 

Keputalily. 

From this instance, reader. 

Be encouraged to diligence in thy calling, 

And distrust not Providence. 

He was a pious and prudent man. 

She a discreet and virtuous woman. 

Their youngest son. 

In filial regard to their memory. 

Places this stone. 

J. F. born 1655 ; died 1744. Mt. 89. 

A. F. born 1667 ; died 1752. iEt. 85. 

By my rambling digressions, I perceive myself to 
be grown old. I used to write more methodically. 
But one does not dress for private company as for a 
public ball. Perhaps it is only negligence. 

To return : I continued thus employed in my 
father's business for two years, that is, till I was 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 21 

twelve years old; and, my brother John, wlio was 
bred to that business, having left vay father, married, 
and set up for himself at Rhode Island, there was 
every appearance that I was destined to supply his 
place, and become a tallow-chandler. But my dislike 
to the trade continuing, my father had apprehensions 
tliat, if he did not put me to one more agreeable, I 
should break loose and go to sea, as my brother Josiah 
had done, to his great vexation. In consequence, he 
took me to walk with him and see joiners, bricl^layers, 
turners, braziers, etc., at their work, that he might 
observe my inclination, and endeavor to fix it on some 
trade or profession that would keep me on land. It 
has ever since been a pleasure to me to see good work- 
men handle their tools. And it has been often useful 
to me, to have learned so much by it, as to be able to 
do some trifling jobs in the house when a workman 
was not at hand, and to construct little machines for 
my experiments, at the moment when the intention of 
making these was warm in my mind. My father de- 
termined at last for the cutler's trade, and placed me 
for some days on trial with Sai)iuel, son to my uncle 
Benjamin, who was bred to that trade in London, and 
had just established himself in Boston. But the sum 
he exacted as a fee for my apprenticeship displeased 
my father, and I was taken home again. 

From my infancy I was passionately fond of read- 
ing, and all the money that came into my hands Avas 
laid out in the purchasing of books. I was very fond 
of voyages. INIy first acquisition was Bunyan's works 
in separate little volumes. I afterwards sold them 



22 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

to enable me to buy Burton's Historical Collections. 
They were small chapmen's books, and cheap ; forty 
vohimes in all. INIy father's little library consisted 
chiefly of books in polemic divinity, most of which I 
read. I have often regretted that, at a time when I 
had such a thirst for knowledge, more proper books 
had not fallen in my way, since it was resolved I 
should not be bred to divinity. There was among 
them Plutarch's Lives, which I read abundantly, and 
I still think that time spent to great advantage. 
There was also a book of Defoe's, called " An Essay 
on Projects," and another of Dr. Mather's, called " An 
Essay to do Good," which perhaps gave me a turn of 
thinking, that had an influence on some of the princi- 
pal future events of my life.^ 

This bookish inclination at length determined my 
father to make me a printer, though he had already 
one son, James, of that profession. In 1717 my 
brother James returned from England with a press 
and letters, to set up his business in Boston. I liked 
it much better than that of my father, but still had a 
hankering for the sea. To prevent the apprehended 
effect of such an inclination, my father was impatient 
to have me bound to my brother. I stood out some 
time, but at last was persuaded, and signed the indent- 
ure, when I was yet but twelve years old. I was to 

^ "When I was fi boy, I met with a book entitled ' Essaj's to do 
Good.' It had been so little regarded by a former possessor, that 
several leaves of it were torn out ; but the remainder gave me such a 
turn of thinkiug as to have an influence on my conduct through life ; 
for I Iiave ahvays set a greater value on the character of a doer of good 
than ou any other kind of reputation." — Franklin to S. Mather, 1784. 



43 

AUTOBLOGRAPHY. 

'1-10 rj^^J 
serve an apprenticeship till I was twenty-one > . -.^ 

age, only I was to be allowed journeyman's wa*^ ' 
during the last year. In a little time I made a great 
progress in the business, and became a useful hand to 
ni}^ brother. I now had access to better books. An 
acquaintance with the apprentices of booksellers en- 
abled me sometimes to borrow a small one, which I 
was careful to return soon, and clean. Often I sat up 
in my chamber reading the greatest part of the night, 
when the book was borrowed in the evening and to be 
returned in the morning, lest it should be found missing. 
After some time a merchant, an ingenious, sensible 
man, Mr. Matthew Adams, who had a pretty collec- 
tion of books, frequented our printing-office, took no- 
tice of me, and invited me to see his library, and very 
kindly proposed to lend me such books as I chose to 
read. 1 now took a strong inclination for poetry, and 
wrote some little pieces. My brother, supposing it 
might turn to account, encouraged me, and induced 
me to compose two occasional ballads. One was 
called " The Light House Tragedy," and contained an 
account of the shipwreck of Captain Worthilake with 
his two daughters ; the other was a sailor's song, on 
the taking of the famous Teach, or Blackbeard, the 
pirate. They were wretched stuff, in street-ballad 
style ; and when they were printed, my brother sent 
me about the town to sell them. The first sold pro- 
digiously, the event being recent, and having made a 
great noise. This success flattered my vanity; but 
my father discouraged me by criticising my perform- 
ances, and telling me verse-makers were generally 



22 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

to enal's. Thus I escaped being a poet, and probably 
Thvei-y bad one ; but, as prose writing has been of 
great use to me in the course of my life, and was a 
principal means of my advancement, I shall tell you 
how, in such a situation, I acquired what little ability 
I may be supposed to have in that way. 

There was another bookish lad in the town, John 
Collins by name, with whom I was intimately ac- 
quainted. We sometimes disputed, and very fond we 
were of argument, and very desirous of confuting one 
another ; which disputatious turn, by the way, is apt 
to become a very bad habit, making people often ex- 
tremely disagreeable in company, by the contradiction 
that is necessary to bring it into practice ; and thence, 
besides souring and spoiling the conversation, it is 
productive of disgusts, and perhaps enmities, with 
those who may have occasion for friendship. I had 
caught this by reading my father's books of dispute 
on religion. Persons of good sense, I have since ob- 
served, seldom fall into it, except lawyers, university 
men, and generally men of all sorts who have been 
bred at Edinburgh. 

A question was once, somehow or other, started be- 
tween Collins and me, on the propiiety of educating 
the female sex in learning, and their abilities for 
study. He was of opinion that it was improper, and 
that they were naturally unequal to it. I took the 
contrary side, perhaps a little for dispute's sake. He 
was naturally more eloquent, having a greater plenty 
of w^ords, and sometimes, as I thought, I was van- 
quished more by his fluency than by the strength of 




AUTOBIOGRAPHY. ^^ 43 



his reasons. As we parted without settling the pi;*^l 
and were not to see one another again for some time^ 
I sat down to put my arguments in writing, wliich I 
copied fair and sent to him. He answered, and I re- 
plied. Three or four letters on a side had passed, 
when my father happened to find ni}^ papers and read 
them. Without entering into the subject in dispute, 
he took occasion to talk to me about my manner of 
writing ; observed, that though I had the advantage 
of my antagonist in correct spelling and pointing 
(which he attributed to the printing-house), I fell far 
short in elegance of expression, in method, and in per- 
spicuity, of which he convinced me by several in- 
stances. I saw the justice of his remarks, and thence 
grew more attentive to my manner of writing, and 
determined to endeavor to improve my style. 

About this time, I met with an odd volume of the 
" Spectator." I had never before seen any of them. 
I bouglit it, read it over and over, and was much de- 
lighted with it. I thought the writing excellent, and 
wished if possible to imitate it. With that view, I 
took some of the papers, and making short hints of 
the sentiments in each sentence, laid them by a few 
days, and then, without looking at the book, tried to 
complete the pnpers again, hy expressing each hinted 
sentiment at length, and as fully as it had been ex- 
pressed before, in any suitable words that should occur 
to me. Then I compared my " Spectator " with the 
original, discovered some of my faults, and corrected 
them. But I found I wanted a stock of words, or a 
readiness in recollecting and using them, which I 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

22 

flight I should have acquired before that time, if I 
had gone on making verses ; since the continual search 
for words of the same import, but of different length 
to suit the measure, or of different sound for the 
rhyme, would have laid me under a constant necessity 
of searching for variety, and ' also have tended to fix 
that variety in my mind, and make me master of it. 
Therefore I took some of the tales in the " Specta- 
tor," and turned them into verse ; and, after a time, 
when I had pretty well forgotten the prose, turned 
them back again. 

I also sometimes jumbled my collection of hints 
into confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to 
reduce them into the best order before I began to 
form the full sentences and complete the subject. 
This was to teach me method in the arrangement of 
the thoughts. By comparing my work with the orig- 
inal, I discovered my faults, and corrected them ; but 
I sometimes had the j^leasure to fancj^ that, in cer- 
tain particulars of small consequence, I had been for- 
tunate enough to improve the method or the language, 
and this encouraged me to think that I might in time 
come to be a tolerable English writer ; of which I 
was extremely ambitious. The time I allotted for 
writing exercises, and for reading, was at night, or be- 
fore work began in the morning, or on Sundays, when 
I contrived to be in the printing-house, avoiding as 
much as I could the constant attendance at public wor- 
ship, which my father used to exact of me Avlien I was 
under his care, and which I still continued to consider 
a duty, though I could not afford time to practise it. 



43 

A UTOBIO GRAPFIY. 

*■?"«. of 
When about sixteen years of age, I happene>':^^ 

meet with a book, written by one Tryon, recommend- 
ing a vegetable diet. I determined to go into it. My 
brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house, but 
boarded himself and his apprentices in another fam- 
ily. My refusing to eat flesh occasioned an inconven- 
ience, and I was frequently chid for my singularity. 
I made myself acquainted with Tryon's manner of 
preparing some of his dishes, such as boiling potatoes 
or rice, making hasty-pudding and a few others, and 
then proposed to my brother that if he would give me 
weekly half the money he paid for my board, I would 
board myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I pres- 
ently found that I could save half what he paid me. 
This was an additional fund for buying of books ; 
but I had another advantage in it. My brother and 
the rest going from the printing-house to their meals, 
I remained there alone, and, despatching presently my 
light repast (which was often no more than a biscuit, 
or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins, or a tart from 
the pastry cook's, and a glass of water), had the rest 
of the time, till their return, for study ; in which I 
made the greater progress from that greater clearness 
of head, and quicker apprehension, which generally 
attend temperance in eating and drinking. Now it 
was that, being on some occasion made ashamed of 
my ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed 
learning when at school, I took Cocker's book on 
Arithmetic, and went through the whole by myself 
with the greatest ease. I also read Seller's and 
Sturny's book on Navigation, which made me ac- 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 
22 

^••nted with the little geometry it contains, but I 
Jever proceeded far in that science. I read about this 
time Locke on Human Understanding, and " The Art 
of Thinking" by Messrs. de Port-Royal.^ 

While I was intent on improving my language, I 
met with an English grammar (I think it was Green- 
wood's), having at the end of it two little sketches on 
the Arts of Rhetoric and Logic, the latter finishing-^ 
with a dispute in the Socratic method. And, soon 
after, I procured Xenophon's " Memorable Things of 
Socrates," wherein there are many examples of the 
same method. I was charmed with it, adopted it, 
dropped my abrupt contradiction and positive argu- 
mentation, and put on the humble inquirer. And be- 
ing then a doubter, as I already was in many points of 
our religious doctrines, I found this method the safest 
for myself and very embarrassing to those against 
whom I used it ; therefore I took delight in it, prac- 
tised it continually, and grew very artful and expert in 
drawing people, even of superior knowledge, into con- - 
cessions, the consequence of which they did not fore- 
see, entangling them in difficulties, out of which they 
could not extricate themselves, and so obtaining vic- 
tories that neither myself nor my cause always de- 
served. 

I continued this method some few years, but gradu- 
ally left it, retaining only the habit of expressing my- 
self in terms of modest diffidence, never using, when 
I advance anything that may possibly be disputed, the 
words certainly, undoubtedly , or any others that give 

1 A community uear Versailles in the seventeentii century. 



A UTO BIO GRA PH Y. 43 

the air of positiveness to an opinion ; but rathei:*'^f 
I conceive^ ov appr'ehend, i^ tXrmg to be so and so; i^ 
appears to me^ or / should not tJiink it, so or so, for 
such and siich reasons ; o\\ I imagine it to he so ; 
or, It is so, if I am not mistaken. This habit, I be- 
lieve, has been of great advantage to me, when I have 
had occasion to inculcate my opinions, and persuade 
men into measures that I have been from time to time 
engaged in promoting. And as the chief ends of con- 
versation are to inform or to be informed, to please or 
to persuade, I wish well-meaning and sensible men 
would not lessen their power of doing good by a posi- 
tive, assuming manner, that seldom fails to disgust, 
tends to create opposition, and to defeat most of those 
purposes for which speech was given to us. In fact, 
if you wish to instruct others, a positive, dogmatical 
manner in advancing your sentiments may occasion 
opposition, and prevent a candid attention. If you 
desire instruction and improvement from others, you 
should not at the same time express yourself fixed in 
your present opinions. Modest and sensible men, who 
do not love disputation, will leave j'ou undisturbed in 
the possession of your errors. In adopting such a 
manner, you can seldom expect to please your hearers, 
or obtain the concurrence you desire. Pope judiciously 
observes, — ^^ 

"Men must be taught, as if you taught them not, 
And things unknown proposed as things forgot." 

He also recommends it to us, — 

"To speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence." 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

22 

^.r^e. might have joined with this line, that which 

^9; has coupled with another, I think, less properly, — 
" For waut of modesty is want of sense." 

If you ask, Why less properly ? I must repeat the 
lines, — 

" Immodest words admit of no defence, 
For want of modesty is waut of sense." 

Now, is not the ivant of sense, where a man is so un- 
fortunate as to waut it, some apology for his ivant of 
modesty? And would not the lines stand more justly 

thus ? 

" Immodest words admit hut tliis defence, 
That want of modesty is want of sense." 

This, however, I should submit to better judgments. 

My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a 
newspaper. It was the second ^ that appeared in 
America, and was called the " New England Courant." 
The only one before it was the " Boston News-Letter." 
I remember his being dissuaded by some of his friends 
from the undertaking, as not likely to succeed, one 
newspaper being in their judgment enough for Amer- 
ica. At this time (1771) there are not less than five 
and twenty. He went on, hoAvever, with the under- 
taking. I was employed to carry the papers to tlie 
customers, after having worked in composing the 
types, and printing off the sheets. 

He had some ingenious men among his friends, who 
amused themselves by writing little pieces for this 

1 More exactly, the fourth. The first of any consequence was tlie 
Boston News-Letter (1704) ; tlie second, the Boston Gazette (1719) ; the 
tliird, the American Weekli/ Mercury (Philadelphia, 1719). 




AUTOBIOGRAPHY. " 43 

paper, whicli gained it credit and made it morW^^^f 
demand, and these gentlemen often visited us. Hear% 
ing tbeir conversations, and their accounts of the ap- 
probation their papers were received with, I was ex- 
cited to try my hand among them. But, being still a 
boy, and suspecting that my brother would object to 
printing anything of mine in his paper, if he knew it 
to bQ mine, I contrived to disguise my hand, and, writ- 
ing an anonymous paper, I put it at night under the 
door of the printing-house. It was found in the morn- 
ing, and communicated to his writing friends Avhen 
the}'' called in as usual. They read it, commented on 
it in my hearing, and I had the exquisite pleasure of 
finding it met with their approbation, and that, in 
their different guesses at the author, none were named 
but men of some character among us for learning and 
ingenuity. I suppose that I was rather lucky in my 
judges, and that they were not really so very good as 
I then believed them to be. Encouraged, however, by 
this attempt, I wrote and sent in the same way to the 
press several other pieces that were equally approved ; 
and I kept my secret till all my fund of sense for such 
performances was exhausted, and then discovered it, 
when I began to be considered a little more by my 
brother's acquaintance. 

However, that did not quite please him, as he 
thought it tended to make me too vain. This miglit 
be one occasion of the differences we began to have 
about this time. Though a brother, he considered 
himself as my master, and me as his apprentice, and 
accordingly expected the same services from me as he 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

22 

.A from another, wlille I thought he degraded me 

^9^.00 much in some he required of me, who from a 
brother expected more indulgence. Our disputes were 
often brought before our father, and I fancy I was 
either generally in the right, or else a better pleader, 
because the judgment was generally in my favor. But 
my brother was passionate, and had often beaten me, 
which I took extremely amiss ; and, thinking my ap- 
prenticeship very tedious, I was continually wishing 
for some opportunity of shortening it, which at length 
offered in a manner unexpected. Perhaps this harsh 
and t^'rannical treatment of me might be a means of 
impressing me with the aversion to arbitrary power 
that has stuck to me through my whole life. 

One of the pieces in our newspaper on some politi- 
cal point, which I have now forgotten, gave offence to 
the Assembly. He was taken up, censured, and im- 
prisoned for a month by the Speaker's warrant, I sup- 
pose because he would not discover the author. I too 
was taken up and examined before the Council ; but, 
though I did not give them any satisfaction, they con- 
tented themselves with admonishing me, and dismissed 
me, considering me perhaps as an apprentice, who 
was bound to keep his master's secrets. During my 
brother's confinement, which I resented a good deal 
notwithstanding our private differences, I had the 
management of the paper ; and I made bold to give 
our rulers some rubs in it, which my brother took very 
kindly, while others began to consider me in an un- 
favorable light, as a youth that had a turn for libelling 
and satire. 



A UTO BIO GRA PHY. 43 

My brother's discharge was accompanied with <t\3;f 
der, and a very odd one, that " James Franklin shoiVi\ 
no longer print the newspaper, called ' The New Eng- 
land Courant.' " On a consultation held in our print- 
ing-office amongst his friends on what he should do 
in this conjuncture, it was proposed to elude the order 
by changing the name of the paper. But my brother, 
seeing inconveniences in this, came to a conclusion, as 
a better way, to let the paper in future be printed in 
the name of " Benjamin Franklin ; " and in order to 
avoid the censure of the Assembly that might fall on 
him, as still printing it by his apprentice, he contrived 
and consented that my old indenture should be re- 
turned to me with a discharge on the back of it, to 
show in case of necessity ; and, in order to secure to 
him the benefit of my service, I should sign new in- 
dentures for the remainder of my time, which were 
to be kept private. A very flimsy scheme it was ; 
however, it was immediately executed, and the pjiper 
was printed accordingly, under my name, for several 
months. 

At length, a fresh difference arising between my 
brother and me, I took upon me to assert my freedom; 
presuming that he would not venture to produce the 
new indentures. It was not fair in me to take this 
advantage, and this I therefore reckon one of the first 
errata of my life ; but the unfairness of it weighed lit- 
tle with me when under the impressions of resentment 
for the blows his passion too often urged him to be- 
stow upon me. Though he was otherwise not an ill- 
natured man ; perhaps I was too saucy and provoking. 
3 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

22 

.xen lie found I would leave liim, lie took care to 

ta. event my getting employment in any other print- 
ing-house of the town, by going round and speaking 
to every master, who accordingly refused to give me 
work. I then thought of going to New York, as the 
nearest place where there was a printer. And I was 
rather inclined to leave Boston, when I reflected that 
I had already made myself a little obnoxious to the 
governing party, and, from the arbitrar}^ proceedings 
of tlie Assembly in my brother's case, it was likely I 
might, if I stayed, soon bring myself into scrapes : and 
further, that my indiscreet disputations about religion 
began to make me pointed at with horror by good 
people, as an infidel and atheist. I concluded, there- 
fore, to remove to New York ; but ray father now 
siding with my brother, I was sensible that, if I at- 
tempted to go openly, means would be used to prevent 
me. My friend Collins, therefore, undertook to man- 
age my flight. He agreed with the captain of a New 
York sloop to take me. I sold my books to raise a 
little money, was taken on board the sloop privately, 
had a fair wind, and in three days found myself at 
New York, near three hundred miles from my home, 
at the age of seventeen (October, 1723), without the 
least recommendation, or knowledge of any person in 
the place, and very little money in ni}^ pocket. 

The inclination I had had for the sea was by this 
time done away, or I might now have gratified it. 
But having another profession, and conceiving myself 
a pretty good workman, I offered my services to a 
printer of the place, old Mr. William Bradford, who 



X, 

AUTO BIO GRA PH Y. 43 

had been the first printer hi Pennsylvania, but\;^f 
removed thence, in consequence of a quarrel witr^ 
the governor, George Keith. He could give me no 
employment, having little to do, and hands enough 
already ; but he said, " My son at Philadelphia has 
lately lost his principal hand, Aquila Rose, by death ; 
if you go thither, I believe he may employ you." 
Phihidelphia was one hundred miles further ; I set 
out, however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my chest 
and things to follow me round by sea. 

In crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore 
out rotten sails to pieces, prevented our getting into 
the Kill, and drove us upon Long Island. In our 
way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, 
fell overboard ; when he was sinking, I reached 
through the water to his shock pate, and drew him up, 
so that we got him in again. His ducking sobered him 
a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his 
pocket a book, which he desired I would dry for him. 
It proved to be my old favorite author, Bunyan's 
"Pilgrim's Progress," in Dutch, finely printed on good 
paper, copper cuts, a dress better than I had ever seen 
it wear in its own language. I have since found that 
it has been translated into most of the lancfuasces of 
Europe, and suppose it has been more generally read 
than an}^ other book, except perhaps the Bible. Hon- 
est John was the first that I know of who mixed nar- 
ration and dialogue ; a method of writing very engag- 
ing to the reader, who in the most interesting parts 
finds himself, as it were, admitted into the company 
and present at the conversation. Defoe has imitated 
him successfully in his " Robinson Crusoe." 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

22 

.n approaching the island, we found it was in a 

tOjjlace where there could be no landing, there being 
a great surge on the stony beach. So we dropped 
anchor, and swung out our cable towards the shore. 
Some people came down to the shore, and hallooed to 
us, as w^e did to them ; but the wind was so high, and 
the surge so loud, that we could not understand each 
other. There were some small boats near the shore, 
and we made signs, and called to them to fetch us ; 
but they either did not comprehend us, or it was im- 
practicable, so they went off. Night approaching, we 
had no remedy but to have patience till the wind 
abated ; and in the mean time the boatman and my- 
self concluded to sleep, if we could ; and so w^e 
crowded into the hatches where we joined the Dutch- 
man, who was still wet, and the spray, breaking over 
the head of our boat, leaked through to us, so that we 
were soon almost as wet as he. In this manner we 
lay all night, with very little rest ; but, the wind 
abating the next day, we made a shift to reach Am- - 
boy before night, having been thirty hours on the 
water, without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of 
filthy rum, the water we sailed on being salt. 

In the evening I found myself very feverish, and 
went to bed ; but having read somewhere that cold 
water drunk plentifully was good for a fever, I fol- 
lowed the prescription, and sweat j)lentifully most of 
the night. My fever left me, and in the morning, 
crossing the ferry, I proceeded on my journey on foot, 
having fifty miles to go to Burlington, where I was 
told I should find boats, that would carry me the rest 
of the way to Philadelphia. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 43 

It rained very hard all the day ; I was thordtt^f 
soaked, and by noon a good deal tired ; so I stopper 
at a poor inn, where I stayed all night ; beginning 
now to wish I had never left home. I made so mis- 
erable a figure, too, that I found, by the questions 
asked me, I was suspected to be some runaway indent- 
ured servant, and in danger of being taken up on 
that suspicion. However, I proceeded next day, and 
got in the evening to an inn, within eight or ten miles 
of Burlington, kept by one Dr. Brown. He entered 
into conversation with me while I took some refresh- 
ment, and, finding I had read a little, became very 
obliging and friendly. Our acquaintance continued 
all the rest of his life. He had been, I imagine, an 
ambulatory quack doctor, for there was no town in 
England, nor any country in Europe, of which he 
could not give a very particular account. He had 
some letters, and was ingenious, but he was an infidel, 
and wickedly undertook, some years after, to turn the 
Bible into doggerel verse. By this means he set many 
facts in a ridiculous light, and might have done mis- 
chief with weak minds, if his work had been pub- 
lished ; but it never was. 

At his house I lay that night, and arrived the next 
morning at Burlington ; but had the mortification to 
find that the regular boats were gone a little before, 
and no other expected to go before Tuesday, this be- 
ing Saturday. Wherefore I returned to an old woman 
in the town, of whom I had bought some gingerbread 
to eat on the water, and asked her advice. She pro- 
posed to lodge me, till a passage by some other boat 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

22 

.red. I accepted her offer, being much fatigued 

tcxy travelling on foot. Understanding I was a print- 
er, she would have had me remain in that town and 
follow my business ; being ignorant what stock was 
necessary to begin w^ith. She was very hospitable, 
gave me a dinner of ox-cheek with great good will, 
accepting only of a pot of ale in return ; and I 
thought myself fixed till Tuesday should come. How- 
ever, walking in the evening by the side of the river, 
a boat came by, which I found was going towards 
Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took 
me in, and, as there was no wind, we rowed all the 
way ; and about midnight, not having yet seen the 
city, some of the company were confident we must 
have passed it, and would row no further ; the others 
knew not where we were, so we put towards the shore, 
got into a creek, landed near an old fence, with the 
rails of which we made a fire, the night being cold, in 
October, and there we remained till daylight. Then 
one of the company knew the place to be Cooper's 
Creek, a little above Philadelphia, which we saw as 
soon as we got out of the creek, and arrived there 
about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning, 
and landed at Market Street wharf. 

I have been the more particular in this description 
of my journey, and shall be so of my first entry into 
that city, that you may in your mind compare such 
unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since made 
there. I was in my Avorking dress, my best clothes 
coming round by sea. I was dirty from my being so 
long in the boat. My pockets were stuffed out v/ith 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 43 

shirts and stockings, and I knew no one, nor wher»L.;^f 
look for lodging. Fatigued with walking, rowing, ana 
the want of sleep, I was very hungry ; and my whole 
stock of cash consisted in a single dollar, and about a 
shilling in copper coin, which I gave to the boatmen 
for m}'^ passage. At first they refused it, on account 
of my having rowed, but I insisted on their taking it. 
INIan is sometimes more generous when he has little 
money than when he has plenty ; perhaps to prevent 
his being thought to have but little. 

I walked towards the top of the street, gazing about 
till near Market Street, where I met a boy with bread. 
I had often made a meal of dry bread, and, inquiring 
where he had bought it, I went immediately to the 
baker's he directed me to. I asked for biscuits, mean- 
ing such as we had at Boston ; that sort, it seems, 
was not made in Philadelphia. I then asked for a 
three-penny loaf, and was told they had none. Not 
knowing the different prices, nor the names of the dif- 
ferent sorts of bread, I told him to give me three- 
penny worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, 
three great puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quan- 
tity, but took it, and, having no room in my pockets, 
walked off with a roll under each arm, and eating the 
other. Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth 
Street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future 
wife's father ; when she, standing at the door, saw 
me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most 
awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and 
went down Chestnut Street and part of Walnut Street, 
eating my roll all the way, and, coming round, found 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

22 

J self again at Market Street wharf, near the boat 

^^L came in, to which I went for a draught of the river 

water ; and, being filled with one of my rolls, gave the 

other two to a woman and her child that came down 

the river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go 

farther. 

Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which 
by this time had many clean-dressed people in it, who 
were all walking the same way. I joined them, and 
thereby was led into the great meeting-house of the 
Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, 
and, after looking round a while and hearing nothing 
said, being very drowsy through labor and want of rest 
the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and continued 
so till the meeting broke up, when some one was kind 
enough to rouse me. This, therefore, was the first 
house I was in, or slept in, in Philadelphia. 

I then walked down towards the river, and looking 
in the faces of every one, I met a young Quaker man, 
whose countenance pleased me, and, accosting him, re-' 
quested he would tell me where a stranger could get 
a lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three 
Mariners. " Here," said he, " is a house where they 
receive strangers, but it is not a reputable one ; if thee 
wilt walk with me, I '11 show thee a better one ; " and 
he conducted me to the Crooked Billet in Water 
Street. There I got a dinner ; and while I was eat- 
ing, several questions were asked me ; as, from my 
youth and appearance, I was suspected of being a run- 
away. 

After dinner my host having shown me to a bed, I 



A UTO BIO GRA PH Y. 43 

laid m3'self on it without undressing, and slept till sf 
in the evening, when I Avas called to supper. I went 
to bed again very early and slept very soundly till 
next morning. Then I dressed myself as neat as I 
could, and went to Andrew Bradford the printer's. I 
found in the shop the old man his father, whom I had 
seen at New York, and who, travelling on horseback, 
had got to Philadelphia before me. He introduced 
me to his son, who received me civilly, gave me a 
breakfast, but told me he did not at present want a 
hand, being lately supplied with one ; but there was 
another printer in town, lately set up, one Keimer, 
who perhaps might employ me; if not, I should be 
welcome to lodge at his house, and he would give me 
a little work to do now and then, till fuller business 
should oft'er. 

The old gentleman said he would go with me to 
the new printer; and when we found him, "Neigh- 
bor," said Bradford, " I have brought to see you a 
young man of your business; perhaps you may want 
such a one." He asked me a few questions, put a 
composing stick in my hand to see how I worked, and 
then said he would employ me soon, though he had 
just then nothing for me to do. And taking old Brad- 
ford, whom he had never seen before, to be one of the 
town's people that had a good will for him, entered 
into a conversation on his present undertaking and 
prospects ; while Bradford, not discovering that he 
was the other printer's father, on Keimer's saying he 
expected soon to get the greatest part of the business 
into his own hands, drew him on by artful questions. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

22 

... starting little doubts, to explain all liis views, 

what influence he relied on, and in what manner he 
intended to proceed. I, who stood by and heard all, 
saw immediately that one was a crafty old sophister, 
and the other a true novice. Bradford left me with 
Keimer, wlio was greatly surprised when I told him 
who the old man was. 

The printing-house, I found, consisted of an old, 
damaged press, and a small, worn-out font of English 
types, which he was using himself, composing an Elegy 
on Aquila Rose, before mentioned ; an ingenious 
young man, of excellent character, much respected in 
the town, secretary to the Assembly, and a pretty 
poet. Keimer made verses too, but very indifferentl3^ 
He could not be said to write them, for his method 
was to compose them in the types directly out of his 
head. There being no copy, but one pair of cases, and 
the Elegy probably requiring all the letter, no one 
could help him. I endeavored to put his press (which 
he had not yet used, and of which he understood noth- 
ing) into order to be worked with ; and promising to 
come and print off his Elegy, as soon as he should 
have got it ready, I returned to Bradford's, who gave 
me a little job to do for the present, and there I 
lodged and dieted. A few days after, Keimer sent for 
me to print off the Elegy. And now he had got an- 
other pair of cases, and a pamphlet to reprint, on 
which he set me to work. 

These two printers I found poorl}^ qualified for their 
business. Bradford had not been bred to it, and was 
very illiterate ; and Keimer, though something of a 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 43 

scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing of 
presswork. He had been one of the French prophets,^ 
and coiikl act their enthusiastic agitations. At this 
time he did not profess any particular rehgion, but 
something of all on occasion ; was very ignorant of 
the world, and had, as I afterwards found, a good deal 
of the knave in his composition. He did not like my 
lodging at Bradford's while I worked with him. He 
had a house, indeed, but without furniture, so he could 
not lodge me ; but he got rae a lodging at Mr. Read's, 
before mentioned, who was the owner of his house; 
and, my chest of clothes being come by this time, I 
made rather a more respectable appearance in the 
eyes of Miss Read, than I had done when she first 
happened to see me eating my roll in the street. 

I began now to have some acquaintance among the 
young people of the town that were lovers of read- 
ing, with whom I spent my evenings very pleasantly ; 
and gained money by my industry and frugality. ' I 
lived very contented, and forgot Boston as much as I 
could, and did not wish it should be known where I 
resided, except to my friend Collins, who was in the 
secret, and kept it faithfully. At length, however, an 
incident happened that occasioned my return home 
much sooner than I had intended. I had a brother- 
in-law, Robert Holmes, master of a sloop that traded 
between Boston and Delaware. He being at New- 
castle, forty miles below Philadelphia, and hearing of 
me, wrote me a letter mentioning the grief of my re- 
lations and friends in Boston at my abrupt departure, 
1 Perhaps the Camisards. 



44 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

assuring me of their good will to me, and that every- 
thing would be accommodated to my mind if I would 
return ; to which he entreated me earnestly. I wrote 
an answer to his letter, thanked him for his advice, 
but stated my reasons for quitting Boston so full}'- and 
in such a light, as to convince him that I was not so 
much in the wrong as he had apprehended. 

Sir William Keith, governor of the province, was 
then at Newcastle, and Captain Holmes, happening 
to be in company with him when my letter came to 
hand, spoke to him of me, and showed him the letter. 
The governor read it, and seemed surprised when he 
was told my age. He said I appeared a young man 
of promising parts, and therefore should be encour- 
aged ; the printers at Philadelphia were wretched 
ones ; and, if I would set up there, he made no doubt 
I should succeed ; for his part he would procure me 
the public business, and do me every other service in 
his power. This my brother-in-law Holmes after- 
wards told me in Boston ; but I knew as yet nothing 
of it; when one day, Keimer and I being at work 
together near the window, we saw the governor and 
another gentleman (who proved to be Colonel French 
of Newcastle, in the province of Delaware), finely 
dressed, come directly across the street to our house, 
and heard them at the door. 

Keimer ran down immediately, thinking it a visit 
to him ; but the governor inquired for me, came up, 
and with a condescension and politeness I had been 
quite unused to, made me many compliments, desired 
to be acquainted with me, blamed me kindly for not 



A UTOBIO GRAPE Y. 45 

having made myself known to him, when I first came 
to the place, and would have me away with him to the 
tavern, where he was going with Colonel French to 
taste, as he said, some excellent Madeira. I was not a 
little surprised, and Keimer stared with astonishment. 
I went however with the governor and Colonel French 
to a tavern, at the corner of Third Street, and over 
the Madeira he proposed my setting up my business. 
He stated the probabilities of my success, and both he 
and Colonel French assured me I should have their 
interest and influence to obtain for me the public 
business of both governments. And as I expressed 
doitbts that my father would assist me in it. Sir Wil- 
liam said he would give me a letter to him, in which 
he would set forth the advantages, and he did not 
doubt he should determine him to comply. So it was 
concluded I should return to Boston by the first ves- 
sel, with the governor's letter to my father. In the 
mean time it was to be kept a secret, and I went on 
working with Keimer as usual. The governor sent 
for me now and then to dine with him, which I con- 
sidered a great honor ; more particularly as he con- 
versed with me in a most affable, familiar, and friendly 
manner. 

About the end of April, 1724, a little vessel offered 
for Boston. I took leave of Keimer, as going to see 
my friends. The governor gave me an ample letter, 
saying many flattering things of me to my father, and 
strongly recommending the project of my setting up 
at Philadelphia, as a thing that would make my for- 
tune. We struck on a shoal in going down the bay, 



46 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

and sprung a leak ; we had a blustering time at sea, 
and were obliged to pump almost continually, at which 
I took my turn. We arrived safe, however, at Bos- 
ton in about a fortnight. I had been absent seven 
months, and my friends had heard nothing of me ; for 
my brother Holmes was not yet returned, and had not 
written about me. My unexpected appearance sur- 
prised the family ; all were, however, very glad to 
see me, and made me welcome, except my brother. I 
went to see him at his printing-house. I was better 
dressed than ever while in his service, having a genteel 
new suit from head to foot, a watch, and my pockets 
lined with near five pounds sterling in silver. He re- 
ceived me not very frankly, looked me all over, and 
turned to his work again. 

The journeymen were inquisitive where I had been, 
what sort of a country it was, and how I liked it. I 
praised it much, and the happy life I led in it, ex- 
pressing strongly my intention of returning to it ; and,, 
one of them asking what kind of money we had there, 
I produced a handful of silver, and spread it before 
them, which was a kind of raree-shoiv they had not 
been used to, paper being the money of Boston. Then 
I took an opportunity of letting them see my watch ; 
and lastly (my brother still grum and sullen) gave 
them a dollar to drink, and took my leave. This 
visit of mine offended him extremely. For, when 
my mother some time after spoke to him of a recon- 
ciliation, and of her wish to see us on good terms 
together, and that we might live for the future as 
brothers ; he said, I had insulted him in such a man- 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 47 

ner before his people, that he could never forget or 
forgive it. In this, however, he was mistaken. 

My father received the governor's letter with some 
surprise ; but said little of it to me for some time. 
Captain Holmes returning, he showed it to him, and 
asked him if he knew Sir William Keith, and what 
kind of man he was ; adding that he must be of 
small discretion, to think of setting a youth up in 
business who wanted three years to arrive at man's 
estate. Holmes said what he could in favor of the 
project, but my father was decidedly against it, and at 
last gave a flat denial. He wrote a civil letter to Sir 
William, thanking him for the patronage he had so 
kindly offered me, and declining to assist me as yet 
in setting up, I being in his opinion too young to be 
trusted with the management of an undertaking so 
important, and for which the preparation required a 
considerable expenditure. 

My old companion Collins, who was a clerk in the 
post-office, pleased with the account I gave him of my 
new country, determined to go thither also ; and, 
while I waited for my father's determination, he set 
out before me by land to Rhode Island, leaving his 
books, which were a pretty collection in mathematics 
and natural philosophy, to come with mine and me to 
New York, where he proposed to wait for me. 

My father, though he did not approve Sir William's 
proposition, was yet pleased that I had been able to 
obtain so advantageous a character from a person of 
such note where I had resided ; and that I had been 
so industrious and careful as to equip myself so hand- 



48 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

somely In so short a time; therefore seeing no pros- 
pect of an accommodation between my brother and 
me, he gave his consent to my returning again to 
Phihidelphia, advised me to behave respectfully to the 
people there, endeavor to obtain the general esteem, 
and avoid lampooning and libelling, to which he 
thought I had too much inclination ; telling me, that 
by steady industry and prudent parsimony I might 
save enough by the time I was one-and-twenty to set 
me up ; and that if I came near the matter he would 
help me out with the rest. This was all I could ob- 
tain, except some small gifts as tokens of his and my 
mother's love, when I embarked again for New York, 
now with their approbation and their blessing. 

The sloop putting in at Newport, Rhode Island, 
I visited my brother John, who had been married 
and settled there some years. He received me very 
affectionatel}^, for he always loved me. A friend of 
his, one Vernon, having some money due to him in 
Pennsylvania, about thirty-five pounds currency, de- 
sired I would recover it for him, and keep it till I had 
his directions what to employ it in. Accordingly he 
gave me an order to receive it. This business after- 
"wai'ds occasioned me a good deal of uneasiness. 

At New York I found my friend Collins, who had 
arrived there some time before me. We had been in- 
timate from children, and had read the same books to- 
gether ; but he had the advantage of more time for 
reading and studying, and a wonderful genius for 
mathematical learning, in which he far outstripped 
me. While I lived in Boston, most of my hours of 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 49 

leisure for conversation were spent with liim, and he 
continued a sober as well as industrious lad ; was 
much respected for his learning by several of the 
clergy and other gentlemen ; and seemed to promise 
making a good figure in life. But, during my ab- 
sence, he had acquired a habit of drinking brandy ; 
and I found by his own account, as well as that of 
others, that he had been drunk every day since his 
arrival at New York, and behaved himself in a very 
extravagant manner. He had gamed too and lost his 
money, so that I was obliged to discharge his lodg- 
ings, and defray his expenses on the road and at Phil- 
adelphia, which proved a great burden to me. 

The then governor of New York, Burnet (son of 
Bishop Burnet), hearing from the captain that one of 
the passengers had a great many books on board, de- 
sired him to bring me to see him. I waited on him, 
and should have taken Collins with me, had he been 
sober. The governor received me with great civility, 
showed me his library, which was a considerable one, 
and we had a good deal of conversation relative to 
books and authors. This was the second governor 
who had done me the honor to take notice of me ; and 
for a poor boy, like me, it was very pleasing. 

We proceeded to Philadelphia. I received in the 
way Vernon's money, without which we could hardly 
have finished our journey. Collins wished to be em- 
ployed in some counting-house ; but, whether they 
discovered his dram-drinking by his breath, or by his 
behavior, though he had some recommendations, he 
met with no success in any application, and continued 

4 



50 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

lodging and boarding at the same bouse with me, and 
at my expense. Knowing I bad that monej^ of Ver- 
non's, he was continually borrowing of me, still prom- 
ising repayment as soon as he should be in business. 
At length he had got so much of it, that I was dis- 
tressed to think what I should do in case of being 
called on to remit it. 

His drinking continued, about which we sometimes 
quarrelled ; for, when a little intoxicated, he was very 
irritable. Once, in a boat on the Delaware with some 
other young men, he refused to row in his turn. " I 
will be rowed home," said he. " We will not row 
you," said I. " You must," said 4ie, " or stay all 
night on the water, just as you please." The others 
said, "Let us row, what signifies it?" But, my 
mind being soured with his other conduct, I continued 
to refuse. So he swore he would make me row, or 
throw me overboard ; and coming along stepping on 
' the thwarts towards me, when he came up and struck 
at me, I clapped my head under his thighs, and, ris- 
ing, pitched him head foremost into the river. I 
knew he was a good swimmer, and so was under little 
concern about him ; but before he could get round to 
lay hold of the boat, we had with a few strokes 
pulled her out of his reach ; and whenever he drew 
near the boat, we asked him if he would row, striking 
a few strokes to slide her away from him. He was 
ready to stifle wath vexation, and obstinately \vould 
not promise to row. Finding him at last beginning to 
tire, we drew him into the boat, and brought him 
home dripping wet. We hardly exchanged a civil 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 51 

word after this adventure. At length a West India 
captain, who had a commission to procure a preceptor 
for the sons of a gentleman at Barbadoes, met with 
him, and proposed to carry him thither to fill that sit- 
uation. He accepted, and promised to remit me what 
he owed me out of the first money he should receive ; 
but I never heard of him after. 

The violation of my trust respecting Vernon's 
money was one of the first great errata of my life ; 
and this showed that my father was not much out in 
his judgment when he considered me as too young to 
manage business. But Sir William, on reading his 
letter, said he was too prudent : that there was a great 
difference in persons ; and discretion did not always 
accompany years, nor was youth always without it. 
" But, since he will not set you up, I will do it my- 
self. Give me an inventory of the things necessary 
to be had from England, and I will send for them. 
You shall repay me when you are able ; I am re- 
solved to have a good printer here, and I am sure you 
must succeed." This was spoken with such an ap- 
pearance of cordiality, that I had not the least doubt 
of his meaning what he said. I had hitherto kept the 
proposition of my setting up a secret in Philadelphia, 
and I still kept it. Had it been known that I de- 
pended on the governor, probably some friend, that 
knew him better, would have advised me not to rely 
on him ; as I afterwards heard it as his knowai char- 
acter to be liberal of promises, which he never meant 
to keep. Yet, unsolicited as he was by me, how could 
I think his generous offers insincere ? I believed him 
one of the best men in the world. 



52 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

I presented him an inventory of a little printing- 
house, amounting by my computation to about one 
hundred pounds sterling. He liked it, but asked me 
if my being on the spot in England to choose the 
types, and see that everything was good of the kind, 
might not be of some advantage. " Then," said he, 
" when there, you may make acquaintance, and estab- 
lish correspondences in the bookselling and stationery 
line." I agreed that this might be advantageous. 
" Then," said he, "get yourself ready to go with An- 
nis ; " which was the annual ship, and the only one at 
that time usually passing between London and Phila- 
delphia. But as it would be some months before 
Annis sailed, I continued working -with Keimer, fret- 
ting extremely about the money Collins had got from 
me, and in great apprehensions of being called upon 
for it by Vernon ; this, however, did not happen for 
some years after. 

I believe I have omitted mentioning, that in my 
first voyage from Boston to Philadelphia, being be- 
calmed off Block Island, our crew employed them- 
selves in catching cod, and hauled up a great number. 
Till then, I had stuck to my resolution to eat nothing 
that had had life ; and on this occasion I considered, 
according to my master Tryon, the taking every fish 
as a kind of unprovoked murder, since none of them 
had, nor could do us any injury that might justify this 
massacre. All this seemed very reasonable. But I 
had been formerly a great lover of fish, and, when it 
came out of the f rymg-pan, it smelt admirably well. I 
balanced some time between principle and inclination, 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 53 

till recollecting, that, when the fish were opened, I 
saw smaller fish taken out of their stomachs ; then 
thought I, " If you eat one another, I don't see why 
we may not eat you." So I dined upon cod very 
heartily, and have since continued to eat as other 
people, returning only now and then occasionally to a 
vegetable diet. So convenient a thing it is to be a 
reasonable creature^ since it enables one to find or 
make a reaso7i for everything one has a mind to do. 

Keimer and I lived on a pretty good familiar foot- 
ing, and agreed tolerably Avell ; for he suspected noth- 
ing of my setting up. He retained a great deal of his 
old enthusiasm, and loved argumentation. We there- 
fore had many disputations. I used to work him so 
with my Socratic method, and had trepanned him so 
often by questions apparently so distant from any point 
we had in hand, yet by degrees leading to the point 
and bringing him into difficulties and contradictions, 
that at last he grew ridiculously cautious, and would 
hardly answer me the most common question without 
asking first, " What do you intend to infer from 
that ? " However, it gave him so high an opinion of 
my abilities in the confuting way, that he seriously 
proposed my being his colleague in a project he had 
of setting up a new sect. He was to preach the doc- 
trines, and I was to confound all opponents. When 
he came to explain with me upon the doctrines, I 
found several conundrums which I objected to, unless 
I might have my way a little too, and introduce some 
of mine. 

Keimer wore his beard at full length, because some- 



54 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

where in the Mosaic law it is said, " Thou shalt not 
mar the corner's of thy heard.'''' He likewise kept the 
seventh day, Sabbath; and these two points were 
essential with him. I disliked both ; but agreed to 
them on condition of his adopting the doctrine of not 
using animal food. " I doubt," said he, " my consti- 
tution will not bear it." I assured him it would, and 
that he would be the better for it. He was usually a 
great eater, and I wished to give myself some diver- 
sion in half starving him. He consented to try the 
practice, if I would keep him company. I did so, and 
we held it for three months. Our provisions were 
purchased, cooked, and brought to us regularly b}^ a 
woman in the neighborhood, who had from me a list 
of forty dishes, which she prepared for us at different 
times, in which there entered neither fish, flesh, nor 
fowl. This whim suited me the better at this time 
from the cheapness of it, not costing us above eighteen 
pence sterling each per week. I have since kept several 
lents most strictly, leaving the common diet for that, 
and that for the common, abruptly, without the least 
inconvenience, so that I think there is little in the 
advice of making those changes by easy gradations. 
I went on pleasantly, but poor Keimer suffered griev- 
ously, grew tired of the project, longed for the flesh- 
pots of Egypt, and ordered a roast pig. He invited 
me and two friends to dine with him ; but, it being 
brought too soon upon table, he could not resist the 
temptation, and ate the whole before we came. 

I had made some courtship during this time to Miss 
Read. I had a great respect and affection for her, 



A UTOBIO GRAPH Y. 55 

and had some reasons to believe she had the same for 
me ; but, as I was about to take a long vo3'age, and 
we were both very young, only a little above eighteen, 
it was thought most prudent by her mother to pre- 
vent our going too far at present ; as a marriage, if it 
was to take place, would be more convenient after my 
return, when I should be, as I hoped, set up in my 
business. Perhaps, too, she thought my expectations 
not so well founded as I imagined them to be. 

My chief acquaintances at this time were Cliarles 
Osborne, Joseph Watson, and James Ralph ; all lovers 
of reading. The first two were clerks to an eminent 
scrivener or conveyancer in the town, Charles Brock- 
den, the other was a clerk to a merchant. Watson 
was a pious, sensible young man, of great integrity ; 
the others rather more lax in their principles of re- 
ligion, particularly Ralph, who, as well as Collins, had 
been unsettled by me ; for which they both made me 
suffer. Osborne was sensible, candid, frank ; sincere 
and affectionate to his friends ; but, in literary mat- 
ters, too fond of criticism. Ralph was ingenious, gen- 
teel in his manners, and extremely eloquent ; I think 
I never knew a prettier talker. Both were great ad- 
mirers of poetry, and began to try their hands in lit- 
tle pieces. Many pleasant walks we have had to- 
gether on Sundays in the woods, on the banks of the 
Schuylkill, where we read to one another, and con- 
ferred on what we had read. 

Ralph was inclined to give himself up entirely to 
poetry, not doubting that he might make great pro- 
ficiency in it, and even make his fortune hy it. He 



56 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

pretended that the greatest poets must, when they 
first began to write, have committed as many faults 
as he did. Osborne endeavored to dissuade him, as- 
sured him he had no genius for poetry, and advised 
him to think of nothing beyond the business he was 
bred to ; that, in the mercantile way, though he had 
no stock, he might, by his diligence and punctuality, 
recommend himself to employment as a factor, and 
in time acquire wherewith to trade on his own ac- 
count. I approved for my part the amusing one's self 
with poetr}^ now and then, so far as to improve one's 
language, but no farther. 

On this it was proposed, that we should each of us 
at our next meeting produce a piece of our own com- 
posing, in order to improve by our mutual observa- 
tions, criticisms, and corrections. As language and 
expression were what we had in view, we excluded 
all considerations of invention, by agreeing that the 
task should be a version of the eighteenth Psalm, 
which describes the descent of a Deity. When the 
time of our meeting drew nigh, Ralph called on me 
first, and let me know his piece was ready. I told 
him I had been busy, and having little inclination, 
had done nothing. He then showed me his piece for 
my opinion, and I much approved it, as it appeared 
tome to have great merit. "Now," said he, "Os- 
borne never will allow the least merit in anything of 
mine, but makes a thousand criticisms out of mere 
envy. He is not so jealous of you ; I wish, therefore, 
you would take this piece and produce it as yours ; I 
will pretend not to have had time, and so produce 



A UTO BIO GRA PHY. 57 

nothing. We shall then hear what he will say to it." 
It was agreed, and I immediately transcribed it, that 
it might appear in my own hand. 

We met. Watson's performance was read ; there 
were some beauties in it, but many defects. Osborne's 
was read ; it was much better; Ralph did it justice; 
remarked some faults, but applauded the beauties. 
He himself had nothing to produce. I was backward, 
seemed desirous of being excused, had not had suffi- 
cient time to correct, etc. ; but no excuse could be ad- 
mitted ; produce I must. It was read and repeated ; 
Watson and Osborne gave up the contest, and joined 
in applauding it. Ralph only made some criticisms, 
and proposed some amendments ; but I defended my 
text. Osborne was severe against Ralph, and told me 
he was no better able to criticise than compose verses. 
As these two were returning home, Osborne expressed 
himself still more strongly in favor of what he thought 
my production ; having before refrained, as he said, 
lest I should think he meant to flatter me. " But who 
would have imagined," said he, " that Franklin was 
capable of such a performance ; such painting, such 
force, such fire ! He has even improved on the orig- 
inal. In common conversation he seems to have no 
choice of words ; he hesitates and blunders ; and yet 
how he writes !" When we next met, Ralph discov- 
covered the trick we had played, and Osborne was 
laughed at. 

This transaction fixed Ralph in his resolution of 
becoming a poet. I did all I could to dissuade him 
from it, but he continued scribbling verses till PojDe 



58 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

cured him. He became, however, a pretty good prose 
writer. More of him liereafter. But, as I may not 
have occasion to mention the other two, I shall just 
remark here, that Watson died in my arms a few 
years after, much lamented, being the best of our set. 
Osborne went to the West Indies, where he became 
an eminent lawyer and made money, but died young. 
He and I had made a serious agreement, that the one 
who happened first to die should, if possible, make a 
friendly visit to the other, and acquaint him how he 
found tilings in that separate state. But he never 
fulfilled his promise. 

The governor, seeming to like my company, had me 
frequently at his house, and his setting me up was 
always mentioned as a fixed thing. I was to take 
with me letters recommendatory to a number of his 
friends, besides the letter of credit to furnish me with 
the necessary money for purchasing the press, types, 
paper, etc. For these letters I was appointed to call 
at different times, when they were to be ready ; but a 
future time was still named. Thus we went on till 
the ship, whose departure too had been several times 
postponed, was on the point of sailing. Then, when 
I called to take my leave and receive the letters, his 
secretary. Dr. Baird, came out to me and said the gov- 
ernor was extremely busy in writing, but would be 
down at Newcastle before the ship, and then the let- 
ters would be delivered to me. 

Ralph, though married, and having one child, had 
determined to accompany me in this voj^age. It was 
thought he intended to establish a correspondence, 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 59 

and obtain goods to sell on commission ; but I found 
after, that, having some cause of discontent with his 
wife's relations, he proposed to leave her on their 
hands, and never to return to America. Having taken 
leave of my friends, and exchanged promises with 
Miss Read, I quitted Philadelphia, in the shijJ, which 
anchored at Newcastle. The governor was there ; 
but when I went to his lodging, his secretary came 
to me from him with expressions of the greatest re- 
gret that he could not then see me, being engaged in 
business of the utmost importance ; but that he would 
send the letters to me on board, wishing me heartily 
a good voyage and a speedy return, etc. I returned 
on board a little puzzled, but still not doubting. 

Mr. Andrew Hamilton, a celebrated lawj^er of Phil- 
adelphia, had taken his passage in the same ship for 
himself and son, with Mr. Denham, a Quaker mer- 
chant, and Messrs. Oniam and Russel, masters of an 
iron work in Maryland, who had engaged the great 
cabin, so that Ralph and I were forced to take uj) 
with a berth in the steerage, and, none on board know- 
ing us, were considered as ordinary persons. But Mr. 
Hamilton and his son (it was James, since governor) 
returned from Newcastle to Philadelphia ; the father 
being recalled by a great fee to plead for a seized ship. 
And, just before we sailed, Colonel French coming on 
board, and showing me great respect, I was more 
taken notice of, and, with my friend Ralph, invited 
by the other gentlemen to come into the cabin, there 
being now room. Accordingly we removed thither. 

Understanding that Colonel French had brought on 



60 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

board tlie governor's despatches, I asked the captain 
for those letters that were to be under my care. He 
said all were put into the bag together, and he could 
not then come at them ; but, before we landed in 
England, I should have an opportunity of picking 
them out ; so I was satisfied for the present, and we 
proceeded on our voyage. We had a sociable company 
in the cabin, and lived uncommonly well, having the 
addition of all Mr. Hamilton's stores, who had laid in 
plentifully. In this passage Mr. Denham contracted a 
friendship for me, that continued during his life. The 
voyage was otherwise not a pleasant one, as we had a 
great deal of bad weather. 

When we came into the Channel, the captain kept 
his word with me, and gave me an opportunity of ex- 
amining the bag for the governor's letters. I found 
some upon which my name was put as under my care. 
I picked out six or seven, that, by the handwriting, I 
thought might be the promised letters, especially as. 
one of them was addressed to Baskett, the king's 
printer, and another to some stationer. We arrived 
in London the 24tli December, 1724. I waited upon 
the stationer, who came first in my way, delivering the 
letter as from Governor Keith. " I don't know such a 
person," said he; but, opening the letter, "Oh, this 
is from Riddlesden ! I have lately found him to be a 
complete rascal, and I will have nothing to do with 
him, nor receive any letters from him." So putting 
the letter into my hand, he turned on his heel and left 
me to serve some customer. I was surprised to find 
these were not the governor's letters ; and, after recol- 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY 61 

lecting and comparing circumstances, I began to doubt 
his sincerity. I found ray friend Denliam, and opened 
the whole affair to him. He let me into Keith's char- 
acter, told me there was not the least probability that 
he had written any letters for me ; that no one, who 
knew him, had the smallest dependence on him ; and 
he laughed at the idea of the governor's giving me a 
letter of credit, having, as he said, no credit to give. 
On my expressing some concern about what I should 
do, he advised me to endeavor getting some employ- 
ment in the way of my business. " Among the print- 
ers here," said he, "you will improve yourself, and 
when you return to America, you will set up to 
greater advantage." 

We both of us happened to know, as well as the 
stationer, that Riddlesden, the attorney, was a very 
knave. He had half ruined Miss Read's father, by 
persuading him to be bound for him. By his letter it 
appeared there was a secret scheme on foot to the 
prejudice of Mr. Hamilton (supposed to be then com- 
ing over with us); that Keith was concerned in it with 
Riddlesden. Denham, who was a friend of Hamilton's, 
thought he ought to be acquainted with it ; so, when 
he arrived in England, which was soon after, partly 
from resentment and ill will to Keith and Riddlesden, 
and partly from good will to him, I waited on him, 
and gave him the letter. He thanked me cordially, 
the information being of importance to him ; and from 
that time he became my friend, greatly to my advan- 
tage afterwards on many occasions. 

But what shall we think of a governor playing such 



62 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

jDitiful tricks, and imposing so grossly on a poor igno- 
rant boy ! It was a habit he had acquired. He 
wished to please everybody ; and, having little to 
give, he gave expectations. He was otherwise an in- 
genious, sensible man, a pretty good writer, and a 
good governor for the people ; though not for his con-, 
stituents, the proprietaries, whose instructions he 
sometimes disregarded. Several of our best laws were 
of his planning, and passed during his administration. 
Ralph and I were inseparable companions. We 
took lodgings together in Little Britain at three shil- 
lings and sixpence a week ; as much as we could then 
afford. He found some relations, but they were poor, 
and unable to assist him. He now let me know his 
intentions of remaining in London, and that he never 
meant to return to Philadelphia. He had brought no 
money with him, the whole he could muster having 
been expended in paying his passage. I had fifteen 
pistoles ; so he borrowed occasionally of me to subsist, 
while he was looking out for business. He first en- 
deavored to get into the playhouse, believing himself 
qualified for an actor ; but Wilkes,^ to whom he ap- 
plied, advised him candidly not to think of that em- 
ployment, as it was impossible he should succeed in it. 
Then he proposed to Roberts, a publisher in Pater 
Noster Row, to write for him a weekly paper like the 
" Spectator," on certain conditions ; which Roberts 
did not approve. Then he endeavored to get employ- 
ment as a hackney writer, to copy for the stationers 
and lawyers about the Temple, but could not find a 
vacancy. 

1 A comedian. 



A UTOBIO GRAPH Y. 63 

For myself, I immediately got into work at Palm- 
er's, a famous printing-house in Bartholomew Close, 
where I continued near a year. I was pretty diligent, 
but I spent with Ralph a good deal of my earnings at 
plays and public amusements. We had nearly con- 
sumed all my pistoles, and now just rubbed on from 
hand to mouth. He seemed quite to have forgotten 
his wife and child ; and I, by degrees, my engagements 
with Miss Read, to whom I never wrote more than one 
letter, and that was to let her know I was not likely 
soon to return. This was another of the great errata 
of my life, which I could wish to correct, if I were to 
live it over again. In fact, by our expenses, I was con-, 
stantly kept unable to pay my passage. 

I now began to think of getting a little beforehand, 
and, expecting better employment, I left Palmer's to 
work at Watts's, near Lincoln's Inn Fields, a still 
greater printing-house. Here I continued all the rest 
of my staj^ in London. 

At my first admission into the -printing-house I took 
to working at press, imagining I felt a want of the 
bodily exercise I had been used to in America, where 
presswork is mixed with the composing. I drank only 
water ; the other workmen, near fifty in number, were 
great drinkers of beer. On occasion I carried up and 
down stairs a large form of types in each hand, when 
others carried but one in both hands. They wondered 
to see, from this and several instances, that the Water- 
American^ as they called me, was stronger than them- 
selves, who drank strong beer ! We had an alehouse 
boy, who attended always in the house to supply the 



64 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN. 

workmen. My companion at the press drank every- 
day a pint before breakfast, a pint at breakfast with 
his bread and cheese, a pint between breakfast and 
dinner, a pint at dinner, a pint in the afternoon about 
six o'clock, and another when he had done his day's 
work. I thought it a detestable custom ; but it was 
necessary, he supposed, to drink strong/ beer that he 
might be strong to labor. I endeavored to convince 
him that the bodily strength afforded by beer could 
only be in proportion to the grain or flour of the bar- 
ley dissolved in the water of which it was made ; that 
there was more flour in a pennyworth of bi'ead ; and 
therefore, if he could eat that with a pint of water, it 
would give him more strength than a quart of beer. 
He drank on, however, and had four or five shillings 
to pay out of his wages every Saturday night for that 
vile liquor ; an expense I was free from. And thus 
these poor devils keep themselves always under. 

Watts, after some weeks, desiring to have me in the 
composing-room, I left the pressmen ; a new bien venu 
for drink, being five shillings, was demanded of me 
by the compositors. I thought it an imposition, as I 
had paid one to the pressmen ; the master thought so 
too, and forbade my paying it. I stood out two or 
three weeks; was accordingly considered as an excom- 
municate ; and had so many little pieces of private 
malice practised on me, by mixing my sorts, trans- 
posing and breaking my matter, etc., etc., if ever I 
stepped out of the room, — and all ascribed to the 
chapel ^ ghost, Avhich they said ever haunted those not 
1 A printing-house is called a chapel by the workmen. 



A UTO BIO GRAPHY. 65 

regularly admitted, — that, notwithstanding the mas- 
ter's protection, I found myself obliged to comply 
and pay the money, convinced of the folly of being 
on ill terms with those one is to live with contin- 
ually. 

I was now on a fair footing with them, and soon 
acquired considerable influence. I proposed some rea- 
sonable alterations in their chapel laws, and carried 
them against all opposition. From my example, a 
great many of them left their muddling breakfast of 
beer, bread, and cheese, finding they could with me 
be supplied from a neighboring house with a large 
porringer of hot water-gruel, sprinkled with pepper, 
crumbled with bread, and a bit of butter in it, for the 
price of a pint of beer, namely, three halfpence. This 
was a more comfortable as well as a cheaper break- 
fast, and kept their heads clearer. Those who con- 
tinued sotting with their beer all day were often, by 
not paying, out of credit at the alehouse, and used to 
make interest with me to get beer ; their li(/7it, as 
they phrased it, being out. I watched the pay-table 
on Saturday night, and collected what' I stood en- 
gaged for them, having to pay sometimes near thirty 
shillings a week on their accounts. This, and my 
being esteemed a pretty good riggite, that is a jocular 
verbal satirist, supported my consequence in the so- 
ciety. JNIy constant attendance (I never making a 
St. Monday') recommended me to the master ; and my 
uncommon quickness at composing occasioned my be- 
ing put upon work of despatch, which was generally 
better paid. So I went on now very agreeably. 



66 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

My lodgings in Little Britain being too remote, I 
found another in Duke Street. It was up three pair 
of stairs backwards, at an Italian warehouse. A 
widow lady kept the house ; she had a daughter, and 
a maid servant, and a journeyman avIio attended the 
warehouse, but lodged abroad. After sending to in- 
quire my character at the house wdiere I last lodged, 
she agreed to take me in at the same rate, three shil- 
lings and sixpence a week ; cheaper, as she said, from 
the protection she expected in having a man to lodge 
in the house. She was a widow, an elderly woman ; 
had been bred a Protestant, being a clergyman's 
daughter, but was converted to the Catholic religion 
by her husband, whose memory she much revered ; 
had lived much among people of distinction, and 
knew a thousand anecdotes of them as far back as 
the time of Charles the Second. She was lame in 
her knees with the gout, and therefore seldom stirred 
out of her room ; so sometimes wanted company; and- 
hers was so highly amusing to me, that I was sure to 
spend an evening with her whenever she desired it. 
Our supper was only half an anchovy each, on a very 
little slice of bread and butter, and half a pint of ale 
between us : but the entertainment was in her conver- 
sation. My alwaj^s keeping good hours, and giving 
little trouble in the family, made her unwilling to part 
with me ; so that, when I talked of a lodging I had 
heard of, nearer my business, for two shillings a week, 
which, intent as I was on saving money, made some 
difference, she bid me not think of it, for she would 
abate me two shillings a week for the future ; so I 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 67 

remained with her at one shilhng and sixpence as long 
as I stayed in London, 

In a garret of her house there lived a maiden lady 
of sevent}^ in the most retired manner, of whom my 
landlady gave me this account : that she was a Ro- 
man Catholic, had been sent abroad when young, and 
lodged in a nunnery with an intent of becoming a 
nun ; but, the country not agreeing with her, she re- 
turned to England, where, there being no nunnery, 
she had vowed to lead the life of a nun, as near as 
might be done in those circumstances. Accordingly 
she had given all her estate to charitable purposes, re- 
serving only twelve pounds a year to live on, and out 
of this sum she still gave a part in charity, living her- 
self on water-gruel only, and using no fire but to boil 
it. She had lived many years in that garret, being 
permitted to remain there gratis by successive Catho- 
lic tenants of the house below, as they deemed it a 
blessing to have her there. A priest visited her, to 
confess her every day. " From this I asked her," said 
my hindlady, "how she, as she lived, could possibly 
find so much employment for a confessor?" "Oh," 
said she, "it is impossible to avoid vain thoughts.'''' I 
was permitted once to visit her. She was cheerful 
and polite, and conversed pleasantly. The room was 
clean, but had no other furniture than a mattress, a 
table with a crucifix, and a book, a stool which she 
gave me to sit on, and a picture over the chimney 
of St. Veronica displaying her handkerchief, with 
the miraculous figure of Christ's bleeding face on it, 
which she explained to me with great seriousness. 



68 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

She looked pale, but was never sick ; and I give it 
as another instance on how small an income life and 
health may be supported. 

At Watts's printing-house I contracted an acquaint- 
ance with an ingenious young man, one Wygate, who, 
having wealthy relations, had been better educated 
than most printers ; was a tolerable Latinist, spoke 
French, and loved reading. I taught him and a friend 
of his to swim, at twice going into the river, and they 
soon became good swimmers. They introduced me to 
some gentlemen from the country, who went to Chel- 
sea by water to see the College. In our return, at 
the request of the company, whose curiosity Wygate 
had excited, I stripped and leaped into the river, and 
swam from near Chelsea to Blackfriar'? ; performing 
in the way many feats of activity, both upon and un- 
der the water, that surprised and pleased those to 
whom they were novelties. 

I had from a child been delighted with this exer- 
cise, had studied and practised Thevenot's motions 
and positions, and added some of my own, aiming at 
the graceful and easy, as well as the useful. All 
these I took this occasion of exhibiting to the com- 
pany, and was much flattered by their admiration ; 
and Wygate, who was desirous of becoming a master, 
grew more and more attached to me on that account, 
as well as from the similarity of our studies. He at 
length proposed to me travelling all over Europe to- 
gether, supporting ourselves everywhere b}^ working 
at our business. I was once inclined to it ; but, men- 
tioning it to my good friend Mr. Denham, with whom 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 69 

I often spent an hour when I had leisure, he dissuaded 
me from it, advising me to think only of returning 
to Pennsylvania, which he was now about to do. 

I must record one trait of this good man's charac- 
ter. He had formerly been in business at Bristol, but 
failed in debt to a number of people, compounded, 
and went to America. There, by a close application 
to business as a merchant, he acquired a plentiful for- 
tune in a few years. Returning to England in the 
ship Avith me, he invited his old creditors to an enter- 
tainment, at which he thanked them for the easy com- 
position they had favored him with, and, when they 
expected nothing but the treat, every man at the first 
remove found under his plate an order on a banker 
for the full amount of the unpaid remainder, with in- 
terest. 

He now told me he was about to return to Phila- 
delphia, and should carry over a great quantity of 
goods in order to open a store there. He proposed to 
take me over as his clerk, to keep his books, in which 
he would instruct me, copy his letters, and attend the 
store. He added, that, as soon as I should be ac- 
quainted ^vith mercantile business, he would promote 
me by sending me with a cargo of flour and bread to 
the West Indies, and procure me commissions from 
others which would be profitable ; and, if I managed 
well, would establish me handsomely. The thing 
pleased me ; for I was grown tired of London, re- 
membered with pleasure the happy months I had 
spent in Pennsylvania, and wished again to see it. 
Therefore I immediately agreed on the terms of fifty 



70 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

pounds a year, Pennsylvania money ; less indeed than 
my then present gettings as a compositor, but afford- 
ing a better prospect. 

I now took leave of printing, as I thought, forever, 
and was daily employed in my new business, going 
about with Mr. Denham among the tradesmen to pur- 
chase various articles, and see them packed up, deliv- 
ering messages, calling upon workmen to despatch, 
etc. ; and, when all was on board, I had a few days' 
leisure. On one of these days I was, to my surprise, 
sent for by a great man I knew only by name. Sir 
William Wyndham, and I waited upon him. He had 
heard by some means or other of my swimming from 
Chelsea to Blackfriars, and of my teaching Wygate 
and another young man to swim in a few hours. He 
had two sons, about to set out on their travels ; he 
wished to have them first taught swimming, and pro- 
posed to gratify me handsomely if I would teach 
them. They were not yet come to town, and my stay- 
was uncertain, so I could not undertake it. But 
from the incident I thought it likely, that if I were 
to remain in England and open a swimming-school, 
I might get a good deal of mone}^ ; and it struck me 
so strongl}'^, that, had the overture been made me 
sooner, probably I should not so soon have returned 
to America. 

Thus I passed about eighteen months in London ; 
most part of the time I worked hard at my business, 
and spent but little upon myself except in seeing 
plays, and in books. My friend Ralph had kept me 
poor ; he owed me about twenty-seven pounds, which 



A UTOBIO GRAPHY. 71 

I was now never likely to receive : a great sum out 
of my small earnings ! I loved bini, notwithstanding, 
for he had many amiable qualities. I had improved 
my knowledge, however, though I had by no means 
improved my fortune ; but I had made some very in- 
genious acquaintance, whose conversation was of great 
advantage to me ; and I had read considerably. 

We sailed from Gravesend on the 23d of July, 
1726. For the incidents of the voyage I refer you to 
my Journal,^ where you will find them all minutely 
related. 

We landed at Philadelphia the 11th of October, 
where I found sundry alterations. Keith was no 
longer governor, being superseded by Major Gordon ; 
I met him walking the streets as a common citizen. 
He seemed a little ashamed at seeing me, and passed 
without saying anything. I should have been as 
much ashamed at seeing Miss Read, had not hpr 
friends, despairing with reason of my return, after 
the receipt of my letter, persuaded her to marry an- 
other, one Rogers, a potter, which was done in my 
absence. With him, however, she was never happy, 
and soon parted from him, refusing to cohabit with 
him, or bear his name, it being now said he had an- 
other wife. He was a worthless fellow, though an 
excellent workman, which was the temptation to her 
friends. He got into debt, ran away in 1727 or 1728, 
went to the West Indies, and died there. Keimer 
had got a better house, a shop well supplied with sta- 
tionery, plenty of new types, and a number of hands, 
1 See Appendix No. II. to Sparks's Life of Frcmklin. 



72 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

though none good, and seemed to have a great deal of 
business. 

Mr. Denham took a store in Water Street, where 
we opened our goods ; I attended the business dili- 
gently, studied accounts, and grew in a little time ex- 
pert at selling. We lodged and boarded together ; 
he counselled me as a father, having a sincere regard 
for me. I respected and loved him, and we might 
have gone on together very happily ; but, in the be- 
ginning of February, 1727, when I had just passed 
my twenty-first yeai-, we both were taken ill. My 
distemper was a pleurisy'-, which very nearly carried 
me off. I suffered a good deal, gave up the point in 
my own mind, and was at the time rather disap- 
pointed when I found myself recovering ; regretting, 
in some degree, that I must now, some time or other, 
have all that disagreeable work to go over again. I 
forget what ]\Ir. Denham 's distemper was ; it held 
him a long time, and at length carried him off. He 
left me a small legacy in a nuncupative will, as a 
token of his kindness for me, and he left me once 
more to the wide world ; for the store was taken into 
the care of his executors, and my employment under 
him ended. 

My brother-in-law, Holmes, being now at Philadel- 
phia, advised my return to my business ; and Keimer 
tempted me, with an offer of large wages by the year, 
to come and take the management of his printing- 
house, that he might better attend to his stationer's 
shop. I had heard a bad character of him in London, 
from his wife and her friends, and was not for having 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 73 

any more to do with him. I mshed for employment 
as a merchant's clerk ; but, not meeting with any, 
I closed again with Keimer. I found in his house 
these hands : Hugh Meredith, a Welsh Pennsyl- 
vanian, thirty years of age, bred to country work, — 
honest, sensible, a man of experience, and fond of 
reading, but addicted to drinking ; Stephen Potts, a 
young countryman of full age, bred to the same, of 
uncommon natural parts, and great wit and humor, 
but a little idle; — these he had agreed with at ex- 
treme low wages per week, to be raised a shilling 
every three months, as they would deserve by im- 
proving in their business, and the expectation of 
these high wages, to come on hereafter, was what he 
had drawn them in Avlth ; Meredith was to work at 
press. Potts at boukbinding, which he by agreement 
was to teach them, though he knew neither one nor 

the other ; — John , an Irishman, brought up to 

no business, whose service, for four years, Keimer had 
purchased from the captain of a ship, — he too was 
to be made a pressman ; George Webb, an Oxford 
scholar, whose time for four years he had likewise 
bought, intending him for a compositor, of whom more 
presently ; and David Harry, a country boy, whom 
he had taken apprentice. 

I soon perceived that the intention of engaging me 
at wages so much higher than he had been used to 
give was to have these raw, cheap hands formed 
through me ; and, as soon as I had instructed them, 
they being all articled to him, he should be able to do 
without me. I went however very cheerfully, put his 



74 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

printing-house in order, which had been in great eon- 
fusion, and brought his hands by degrees to mind their 
business and to do it better. 

It was an odd thing to find an Oxford scholar in 
the situation of a bought servant. He was not more 
than eighteen years of age, and lie gave me this ac- 
count of himself : that he was born in Gloucester, 
educated at a grammar school, and had been distin- 
guished among the scholars for some apparent supe- 
riority in performing his part, when they exhibited 
plays ; belonged to the Wits' Club there, and had 
written some pieces in prose and verse, which were 
printed in the Gloucester newspapers ; tlience was 
sent to Oxford ; there he continued about a year, but 
not well satisfied, wishing of all things to see Lon- 
don, and become a player. At length receiving his 
quarterly allowance of fifteen guineas, instead of dis- 
charging his debts, he went out of town, hid his gown 
in a furze bush, and walked to London, where, hav- 
ing no friend to advise him, he fell into bad company, 
soon spent his guineas, found no means of being intro- 
duced among the players, grew necessitous, paAvned 
his clothes, and wanted bread. Walking the street 
very hungry, not knowing what to do with himself, a 
crimp's bill was put into his hand, offering immediate 
entertainment and encouragement to such as would 
bind themselves to serve in America. He went di- 
rectly, signed the indentures, was put into the ship, 
and came over; never writing a line to his friends to 
acquaint them what was become of him. He was 
lively, witty, good-natured, and a pleasant companion ; 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 75 

but' idle, thoughtless, and imprudent to the last de- 
gree. 

John, the Irishman, soon ran away ; with the rest I 
began to live very agreeably, for they all respected me 
the more, as they found Keimer incapable of instruct- 
ing them, and that from me they learned something 
daily. My acquaintance with ingenious people in the 
town increased. We never worked on Saturday, that 
being Keiraer's Sabbath, so that I had two days for 
reading. Keimer bimself treated me with great civil- 
ity and apparent regard, and nothing now made me 
uneasy but my debt to Vernon, which I was yet un- 
able to pay, being hitherto but a poor economist. He 
however kindly made no demand of it. 

Our printing-house often wanted sorts, and there 
was no lettei'-fouudry in America ; I had seen types 
cast at James's in London, but without much atten- 
tion to the manner ; however, I contrived a mould, 
and made use of the letters we had as puncheons, 
struck the matrices in lead, and thus supplied in a 
pretty tolerable way all deficiencies. I also engraved 
several things on occasion ; made the ink ; I was 
warehouse-man, and in short, quite a fac-totum. 

But, however serviceable I might be, I found that 
my services became every day of less importance, as 
the other hands improved in their business ; and, 
when Keimer paid me a second quarter's wages, he 
let me know that he felt them too heavy, and thought 
I should make an abatement. He grew by degrees 
less civil, put on more the airs of master, frequently 
found fault, was captious, and seemed ready for an 



76 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

outbreaking. I went on nevertheless with a good 
deal of patience, thinking that his incumbered cir- 
cumstances were partly the cause. At length a trifle 
snapped our connection ; for, a great noise happening 
near the court-house, I put my head out of the window 
to see what was the matter. Keimer, being in the 
street, looked up and saw me, called out to me in a 
loud voice and angry tone to mind my business, add- 
ing some reproachful words, that nettled me the more 
for their publicity, all the neighbors who were looking 
out on the same occasion being witnesses how I was 
treated. He came up immediately into the printing- 
house, continued the quarrel ; high words passed on 
both sides, he gave me the quarter's warning we had 
stipulated, expressing a wish that he had not been 
obliged to so long a warning. I told him his wish 
was unnecessary, for I would leave him that instant ; 
and so taking my hat walked out of doors, desiring 
Meredith, whom I saw below, to take care of some 
things I left, and bring them to my lodgings. 

Meredith came accordingly in the evening, when 
we talked my affair over. He had conceived a great 
regard for me, and was very unwilling that I should 
leave the house while he remained in it. He dissuaded 
me from returning to my native country, which I be- 
gan to think of : he reminded me that Keimer was in 
debt for all he possessed ; that his creditors began to 
be uneasy ; that he kept his shop miserably, sold often 
without a profit for ready money, and often trusted 
without keeping accounts , that he must therefore fail, 
which would make a vacancy I might profit of. I 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 77 

objected my want of money. He then let me know 
that his father had a high opinion of me, and, from 
some discourse that had passed between them, he 
was sure would advance money to set me up, if I 
would enter into partnership with him. " My time," 
said he, "will be out with Keimer in the spring; by 
that time we may have our press and types in from 
London. I am sensible I am no workman ; if you 
like it, your skill in the business shall be set against 
the stock I furnish, and we will share the profits 
equally." 

The proposal was agreeable to me, and I consented; 
his father was in town and approved of it ; the more 
as he said I had great influence with his son, had pre- 
vailed on him to abstain loug from dram-drinking, 
and he hoped might break him of that wretched habit 
entirel3\ when we came to be so closely connected. 
I gave an inventory to the father, who carried it to a 
merchant ; the things were sent for, the secret was to 
be kept till they should arrive, and in the mean time 
I was to get work, if I could, at the other printing- 
house. But I found no vacancy there, and so re- 
mained idle a few days, when Keimer, on a prospect 
of being employed to print some paper money in New 
Jersey, which would require cuts and various types, 
that I only could supply, and apprehending Bradford 
might engage me and get the job from him, sent me a 
very civil message, that old friends should not part 
for a few words, the effect of sudden passion, and 
wishing me to return. Meredith persuaded me to 
comply, as it would give more opportunity for his im- 



78 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

provement under my daily instructions ; so I returned, 
and we went on more smoothly than for some time 
before. The New Jersey job was obtained, I con- 
trived a copper-plate press for it, the first that had 
been seen in the country : I cut several ornaments 
and checks for the bills. We went together to Bur- 
lington, where I executed the whole to satisfaction ; 
and he received so large a sum for the work as to be 
enabled thereby to keep himself longer from ruin. 

At Burlington I made acquaintance with many 
principal people of the province. Several of them 
had been appointed by the Assembly a committee to 
attend the press, and take care that no more bills 
were printed than the law directed. They were 
therefore by turns constantly with us, and generally 
he who attended brought with him a friend or two for 
company. My mind having been much more im- 
proved by reading than Kiemer's, I suppose it was for 
that reason my conversation seemed to be more val-. 
ued. They had me to their houses, introduced me to 
their friends, and showed me much civility ; while he, 
though the master, was a little neglected. In truth, 
he was an odd creature ; ignorant of common life, 
fond of rudely opposing received opinions, slovenly to 
extreme dirtiness, enthusiastic in some points of re- 
ligion, and a little knavish withal. 

We continued there near three months ; and by 
that time I could reckon among my acquiried friends, 
Judge Allen, Samuel Bustill, the secretary of the 
province, Isaac Pearson, Joseph Cooper, and several 
of the Smiths, members of Assembly, and Isaac De- 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 79 

COW, the surveyor-general. The latter was a shrewd, 
sagacious old man, who told me that he began for 
himself when young by wheeling clay for the brick- 
makers, learned to write after he was of age, carried 
the chain for surveyors, who taught him surveying, 
and he had now by his industry acquired a good es- 
tate ; and said he, " I foresee that you will soon work 
this man out of his business, and make a fortune in it 
at Philadelphia." He had then not the least inti- 
mation of my intention to set up there or anywhere. 
These friends were afterwards of great use to me, as I 
occasionally was to some of them. They all continued 
their regard for me as long as they lived. 

We had not been long returned to Philadelphia 
before the new types arrived from London. We set- 
tled with Keimer, and left him by his consent before 
he heard of it. We found a house to let near the 
Market, and took it. To lessen the rent, which Avas 
then but twenty-four pounds a year, though I have 
since known it to let for seventy, we took in Thomas 
Godfrey, a glazier, and his family, who were to pay a 
considerable part of it to us, and wo to board with 
them. We had scarce opened our letters and put our 
press in order, before George House, an acquaintance 
of mine, brought a countryman to us, whom he had 
met in the street, inquiring for a printer. All our 
cash was now expended in the variety of particulars 
we had been obliged to procure, and this country- 
man's five shillings, being our first-fruits, and coming 
so seasonably, gave me more pleasure than any ci'own 
I have since earned ; and the gratitude I felt towards 



80 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

House has made me often more ready, than perhaps 
I otherwise should have been, to assist young begin- 
ners. 

There are croakers in every country, always bod- 
ing its ruin. Such a one there lived in Philadelphia ; 
a person of note, an elderly man, with a wise look 
and a very grave manner of speaking ; his name was 
Samuel Mickle. This gentleman, a stranger to me, 
stopped me one day at my door, and asked me if I 
was the young man who had lately opened a new 
printing-house ? Being answered in the affirmative, 
he said he was sorry for me, because it was an expen- 
sive undertaking, and the expense would be lost ; for 
Philadelphia was a sinking place, the people already 
half bankrupts, or near being so ; all the appearances 
of the contrary, such as new buildings and the rise of 
rents, being to his certain knowledge fallacious; for 
they were in fact among the things that would ruin 
us. Then he gave me such a detail of misfortunes 
now existing, or that were soon to exist, that he left 
me half melancholy. Had I known him before I en- 
gaged in this business, probably I never should have 
done it. This person continued to live in this decay- 
ing place, and to declaim in the same strain, refusing 
for many 3'ears to buy a house there, because all was 
going to destruction ; and at last I had the pleasure 
of seeing him give five times as much for one, as 
he might have bought it for when he first began 
croaking. 

I should have mentioned before, that, in the au- 
tumn of the preceding year, I had formed most of my 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 81 

ingenious acquaintance into a club for mutual improve- 
ment, which we called the Junto ; we met on Friday 
evenings. The rules that I drew up required that 
every member in his turn should produce one or moro 
queries on any point of Morals, Politics, or Natural 
Philosophy, to be discussed by the company ; and once 
in .three months produce and read an essay of his own 
writing, on any subject he pleased. Our debates were 
to be under the direction of a president, and to be 
conducted in the sincere spirit of inquiry after truth, 
without fondness for dispute or desire of victory ; and, 
to prevent warmth, all expressions of positiveness in 
opinions, or direct contradiction, Avere after some time 
made contraband, and prohibited under small pecuni- 
ary penalties. 

The first members were Joseph Breintnal, a copier 
of deeds for the scriveners, a good-natured, friendly, 
middle-aged man, a gi-eat lover of poetry, reading all 
he could meet with, and writing some that was toler- 
able ; very ingenious in making little nicknackeries, 
and of sensible conversation. 

Thomas Godfrey, a self-taught mathematician, great 
in his way, and afterwards inventor of what is now 
called " Hadley's Quadrant." But he knew little out 
of his way, and was not a pleasing companion ; as, 
like most great mathematicians I have met with, he 
expected universal precision in everything said, or was 
forever denying or distinguishing upon trifles, to the 
disturbance of all conversation. He soon left us. 

Nicholas Scull, a surveyor, afterwards surveyor- 



82 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

general, wLo loved books, and sometimes made a few 
verses. 

William Parsons, bred a shoemaker, but, loving 
reading, had acquired a considerable share of mathe- 
matics, which he first studied with a view to astrology, 
and afterwards laughed at it. He also became sur- 
veyor-general. 

William Maugridge, joiner, but a most exquisite 
mechanic, and a solid, sensible man. 

Hugh Meredith, Stephen Potts, and George Webb, 
I have characterized before. 

Robert Grace, a young gentleman of some fortune, 
generous, lively, and witty ; a lover of jDunning and 
of his friends. 

Lastly, William Coleman, then a merchant's clerk, 
about my age, who had the coolest, clearest head, the 
best heart, and the exactest morals, of almost any 
man I ever met with. He became afterwards a mer- 
chant of great note, and one of our provincial judges. 
Our friendship continued without interruption to his 
death, upwards of forty years ; and the clubcontinued 
almost as long, and was the best school of philosophy, 
morality, and politics, that then existed in the prov- 
ince ; for our queries, which were read the week pre- 
ceding their discussion, put us upon reading with at- 
tention on the several subjects, that we might speak 
more to the purpose ; and here too we acquired better 
habits of conversation, everything being studied in 
our rules, which might prevent our disgusting each 
other. Hence the long continuance of the club, which 
I shall have frequent occasion to speak further of 
hereafter. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 83 

But my giving this account of it here is to show 
something of the interest I had, every one of these 
exerting themselves in recommending business to us. 
Breintnal particularly procured us from the Quakers 
the printing of forty sheets of their history, the rest 
being to be done by Keimer ; and upon these we 
worked exceedingly hard, for the price was low. It 
was a folio, pro patria size, in pica, with long primer 
notes. I composed a sheet a day, and Meredith 
worked it off at press ; it was often eleven at night, 
and sometimes later, before I had finished my distri- 
bution for the next day's work. For the little jobs 
sent in by our other friends now and then put us back. 
But, so determined I was to continue doing a sheet a 
day of the folio, that one night, when, having imposed 
my forms, I thought my day's work over, one of them 
by accident was broken, and two pages reduced to pie, 
I immediately distributed, and composed it over again 
before I went to bed ; and this industry, visible to 
our neighbors, began to give us character and credit ; 
particularly I was told, that mention being made of 
the new printing-office at the merchants' every-night 
club, the general opinion was that it must fail, there 
being already two printers in the place, Keimer and 
Bradford ; but Dr. Baird gave a contrary opinion : 
" For the industry of that Franklin," said he, " is su- 
perior to anything I ever saw of the kind ; I see him 
still at work when I go home from club, and he is at 
work again before his neighbors are out of bed." This 
struck the rest, and we soon after had offers from one 
of them- to supply us with stationery ; but as yet we 
did not choose to engage in shop business. 



84 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

I mention this industry more particularly and the 
more freely, though it seems to be talking in my own 
praise, that those of my posterity, who shall read it, 
may know the use of that virtue, when they see its 
effects in my favor throughout this relation. 

George Webb, who had found a friend that lent him 
wherewith to purchase his time of Keimer, now came 
to offer himself as a journeyman to us. We could not 
then employ him ; but I foolishly let him know as a 
secret, that I soon intended to begin a newspaper, and 
might then have work for him. My hopes of success, 
as I told him, were founded on this : that the then 
only newspaper, printed by Bradford, was a paltry 
thing, wn-etchedly managed, no way entertaining, and 
yet was profitable to him ; I therefore freely thought 
a good paper would scarcely fail of good encourage- 
ment. I requested Webb not to mention it; but he 
told it to Keimer, who immediately, to be beforehand 
with me, published proposals for one himself, on which 
Webb was to be employed. I was vexed at this ; and, 
to counteract them, not being able to commence our 
paper, I wrote several amusing pieces for Bradford's 
paper, under the title of the Busy Body, which 
Breintnal continued some months. By this means the 
attention of the public was fixed on that paper, and 
Keimer's proposals, which we burlesqued and ridiculed, 
were disregarded. He began his paper, however, and, 
before carrying it on three quarters of a year, with at 
most only ninety subscribers, he offered it me for a 
trifle ; and I, having been ready some time to go on 
with it, took it in hand directly, and it proved in a 
few years extremely profitable to me. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 85 

I perceive that I am apt to speak in the singular 
number, though our partnership still continued; it 

ay be, that in fact the whole management of the 
business lay upon me. Meredith was no compositor, 
a poor pressman, and seldom sober. My friends la- 
mented my connection with him, but I was to make 
the,best of it. 

Our first papers made quite a different appearance 
from any before in the province ; a better type, and 
better printed ; but some remarks of my writing, on 
the dispute then going on between Governor Burnet 
and the Massachusetts Assembly, struck the principal 
people, occasioned the paper and the manager of it to 
be much talked of, and in a few weeks brought them 
all to be our subscribers. 

Their example was followed by man}'-, and our num- 
ber went on growing continually. This was one of 
the first good effects of my having learned a little- to 
scribble ; another was, that the leading men, seeing a 
newspaper now in the hands of those who could also 
handle a pen, thought it convenient to oblige and en- 
courage me. Bradford still printed the votes, and 
laws, and other public business. He had printed an 
address of the House to the governor, in a coarse, 
blundering manner ; we reprinted it elegantly and 
correctly, and sent one to every member. They were 
sensible of the difference, it strengthened the hands 
of our friends in the House, and they voted us their 
printers for the year ensuing. 

Among my friends in the House, I must not forget 
Mr. Hamilton, before mentioned, who was then re- 



86 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

turned from England, and had a seat in it. He inter- 
ested himself for me strongly in that instance, as he 
did in many others afterwards, continuing his patron- 
age till his death. 

Mr. Vernon, about this time, put me in mind of 
the debt I owed him, but did not press me. I wrote 
to him an ingenuous letter of acknowledgment, crav- 
ing his forbearance a little longer, which he allowed 
me. As soon as I was able, I paid the principal with 
the interest, and many thanks ; so that erratum was 
in some degree corrected. 

But now another difficulty came upon me, which I 
had never the least reason to expect. ]\Ir. Meredith's 
father, who was to have paid for our printing-house, 
according to the expectations given me, was able to 
advance only one hundred pounds currency, which 
had been paid ; and a hundred more were due to the 
merchant, who grew impatient and sued us all. We 
gave bail, but saw that, if the money could not be 
raised in time, the suit must soon come to a judgment 
and execution, and our hopeful prospects must, with 
us, be ruined ; as the press and letters must be sold 
for payment, perhaps at half price. 

In this distress two true friends, whose kindness I 
have never forgotten, nor ever shall forget while I can 
remember anything, came to me separately, unknown 
to each other, and, without any application from me, 
offered each of them to advance me all the money 
that should be necessary to enable me to take the 
whole business upon myself, if that should be practi- 
cable ; but they did not like my continuing the part- 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 87 

nership with Meredith, who, as thej^ said, was often 
seen drunk in the street, phijing at low games in ale- 
houses, much to our discredit. These two friends 
were William Coleman and Robert Grace. I told 
them I could not propose a separation, while any 
prospect remained of the Merediths fulfilling their 
part of our agreement, because I thought myself un- 
der great obligations to them for what they had done, 
and would do if they could ; but, if they finally failed 
in their performance, and our partnership must be 
dissolved, I should then think myself at liberty to 
accept the assistance of my friend. 

Thus the matter rested for some time, when I said 
to my partner, " Perhaps your father is dissatisfied 
at the part you have undertaken in this affair of ours, 
and is unwilling to advance for you and me what he 
would for you. If that is the case, tell me, and I 
will resign the whole to you, and go about my busi- 
ness." " No," said he, " my father has really been 
disappointed, and is really unable ; and I am unwill- 
ing to distress him further. I see this is a business 
I am not fit for. I was bred a farmer, and it was 
folly in me to come to town, and put myself, at thirty 
years of age, an apprentice to learn a new trade. 
Many of our Welsh people are going to settle in 
North Carolina, where land is cheap. I am inclined 
to go with them, and follow my old employment ; 
you may find friends to assist you. If you will take 
the debts of the company upon you, return to my 
father the hundred pounds he has advanced, pay my 
little personal debts, and give me thirty pounds and 



88 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

a new saddle, I will relinquish the partnership and 
leave the whole in your hands." I agreed to this 
proposal; it was drawn m^ in writing, signed, and 
sealed immediately. I gave him what he demanded, 
and he went soon after to Carolina; whence he sent 
me next year two long letters, containing the best 
account that had been given of that country, the cli- 
mate, the soil, and husbandry, for in those matters he 
was very judicious. I printed them in the papers, 
and they gave great satisfaction to the public. 

As soon as he was gone, I recurred to my two 
friends ; and because I would not give an unkind pref- 
erence to either, I took half of what each had offered 
and I wanted of one, and half of the other ; paid off 
the company's debts, and went on with the business 
in my own name, advertising that the partnership 
was dissolved. I think this Avas in or about the year 
1729. 

About this time there was a cry among the people- 
for more paper money, only fifteen thousand pounds 
being extant in the province, and that soon to be 
sunk. The wealthy inhabitants opposed any addition, 
being against all paper currency, from the apprehen- 
sion that it would depreciate as it had done in New 
England, to the injury of all creditors. We had dis- 
cussed this point in our Junto, where I was on the 
side of an addition, being persuaded that the first 
small sum struck in 1723 had done much good by 
increasing the trade, employment, and number of in- 
habitants in the province, since I noAV saw all the old 
houses inhabited, and many new ones building : 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 89 

whereas I remembered well, when I first walked 
about the streets of Philadelphia, eating my roll, I 
saw many of the houses in Walnut Street, between 
Second and Front streets, with bills on their doors, 
" To he let ;''"' and many likewise in Chestnut Street 
and other streets ; which made me think the inhabi- 
tants of the city were one after another deserting it. 

Our debates possessed me so fully of the subject, 
that I wrote and printed an anonymous pamphlet on 
it, entitled, " The Nature and Necessity of a Paper 
Currenc3^" It was well received by the common 
people in general ; but the rich men disliked it, for 
it increased and strengthened the clamor for more 
money ; and, they happening to have no writers among 
them that were able to answer it, their opposition 
slackened, and the point was carried by a majority in 
the House. My friends there, who considered I had 
been of some service, thought fit to reward me, 'by 
employing me in printing the money ; a very profita- 
ble job, and a great help to me. This was another 
advantage gained by my being able to write. 

The utility of this currency became by time and 
experience so evident, that the principles upon which 
it was founded were never afterwards much disputed ; 
so that it grew soon to fifty-five thousand pounds; 
and in 1739 to eighty thousand pounds, trade, build- 
ing, and inhabitants all the while increasing. Though 
I now think there are limits beyond which the quan- 
tity may be hurtful. 

I soon after obtained, through my friend Hamilton, 
the printing of the Newcastle paper money, another 



90 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

profitable job, as I then thought it ; small things ap- 
pearing great to those in small circumstances ; and 
these to me were really great advantages, as they 
were great encouragements. Mr. Hamilton procured 
for me also the printing of the laws and votes of that 
government ; which continued in my hands as long 
as I followed the business. 

I now opened a small stationer's shop. I had in it 
blanks of all kinds ; the correctest that ever appeared 
among us. I was assisted in that by my friend Breint- 
nal. I had also paper, parchment, chapmen's books, 
etc. One Whitemarsh, a compositor I had known in 
London, an excellent workman, now came to me, and 
worked with me constantly and diligently ; and I took 
an apprentice, the son of Aquila Rose. 

I began now gradually to pay off the debt I was 
under for the printing-house. In order to secure my 
credit and character as a tradesman, I took care not 
only to be in reality industrious and frugal, but to 
avoid the appearance to the contrary. I dressed plain, 
and was seen at no places of idle diversion. I never 
went out a fishing or shooting: a book indeed some- 
times debauched me from my work, but that was sel- 
dom, was private, and gave no scandal ; and, to show 
that I was not above my business, I sometimes brought 
home the paper I purchased at the stores, through the 
streets, on a wheelbarrow. Thus being esteemed an 
industrious, thriving young man, and paying duly for 
what I bought, the merchants who imported stationery 
solicited my custom ; others proposed supplying me 
with books, and I went on prosperously. In the mean 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 91 

time, Keiiner's credit and business declining daily, he 
was at last forced to sell his printing-house, to satisfy 
his creditors. He went to Barbadoes, and there lived 
some years in very poor circumstances. 

His apprentice, David Harry, whom I had in- 
structed while I worked with him, set up in his place 
at Philadelphia, having bought his materials. I was 
at first apprehensive of a powerful rival in Harry, as 
his friends were very able, and had a good deal of in- 
terest. I therefore proposed a partnership to him, 
which he fortunately for me rejected with scorn. He 
was very proud, dressed like a gentleman, lived ex- 
pensively, took much diversion and pleasure abroad, 
ran in debt, and neglected his business ; upon which 
all business left him ; and, finding nothing to do, he 
followed Keimer to Barbadoes, taking the printing- 
house Avitli him. There this apprentice employed 
his former master as a journeyman ; they quarrelled 
often, and Harry went continually behindhand, and 
at length was obliged to sell his types and return 
to country work in Pennsylvania. Tlie person who 
bought them employed Keimer to use them, but a few 
years after he died. 

There remained now no other printer in Philadel- 
phia, but the old Bradford ; but he was rich and easy, 
did a little in the business by straggling hands, but 
was not anxious about it. However, as he held the 
post-office, it was imagined he had better opportunities 
of obtaining news, his paper was thought a better dis- 
tributer of advertisements than mine, and therefore 
had many more ; which was a profitable thing to him, 



92 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. . 

and a disacl vantage to me. For, though 1 did indeed 
receive and send papers by the post, yet the pubhc 
opinion was otherwise ; for what I did send was by 
bribing the riders, who took them privately, Brad- 
ford being unkind enough to forbid it, which occa- 
sioned some resentment on my part ; and I thought 
so meanly of the practice, that, when I afterwards 
came into his situation, I took care never to imitate it. 
I had hitherto continued to board with Godfrey, 
who lived in a part of my house with his wife and 
children, and had one side of the shop for his glazier's 
business though he worked little, being alwa^'S ab- 
sorbed in his mathematics. Mrs. Godfrey projected a 
match for me with a relation's daughter, and took op- 
portunities of bringing us often together, till a serious 
courtship on my part ensued, the girl being in herself 
very deserving. The old folks encouraged me by con- 
tinual invitations to supper, and by leaving us to- 
gether, till at length it was time to explain. Mrs. 
Godfrey managed our little treaty. I let her know 
that I expected as much money with their daughter 
as would pay off my remaining debt for the printing- 
house, which I believe was not then above a hundred 
pounds. She brought me word they had no such sum 
to sjDare. I said they might mortgage their house in 
the loan-office. The answer to this, after some days, 
was, that they did not approve the match ; that, on in- 
quiry of Bradford, they had been informed the print- 
ing business was not a profitable one, the types would 
soon be worn out and more wanted ; that Keimer and 
David Harry had failed one after the other, and I 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 93 

should probably soon follow them ; and therefore I was 
forbidden the house, and the daughter was shut up. 

Whether this was a real change of sentiment or 
only artifice, on a supposition of our being too far en- 
gaged in affection to retract, and therefore that we 
should steal a marriage, which would leave them at 
liberty to give or withhold what they pleased, I know 
not. But I suspected the motive, resented it, and 
went no more. Mrs. Godfrey brought me afterwards 
some more favorable accounts of their disposition, and 
would have drawn me on again ; but I declared abso- 
lutely my resolution to have nothing more to do with 
that family. This was resented by the Godfreys, we 
differed, and the}'' removed, leaving me the whole 
house, and I resolved to take no more inmates. 

But this affair having turned my thoughts to mar- 
riage, I looked round me and made overtures of ac- 
quaintance in otlier places; but soon found that, the 
business of a printer being generally thought a poor 
one, I was not to expect money with a wife, unless 
with such a one as I should not otherwise think agree- 
able. 

A friendly correspondence as neighbors had con- 
tinued between me and Miss Read's family, who all 
had a regard for me from the time of my first lodging 
in their house. I was often invited there and con- 
sulted in their affairs, wherein I sometimes was of 
service. I pitied poor Miss Read's unfortunate situa- 
tion, who was generally dejected, seldom cheerful, and 
avoided company. I considered my giddiness and in- 
constancy when in London, as in a great degree the 



94 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

cause of her unbappiness ; though the mother was 
good enough to think the fault more her own than 
mine, as she had prevented our marrying before I 
went thither, and persuaded the other match in my 
absence. Our mutual affection was revived, but there 
were now great objections to onr union. That match 
was indeed looked upon as invalid, a preceding Avife 
being said to be living in England ; but this could not 
easily be proved, because of the distance, etc. ; and, 
though there was a report of his death, it was not 
certain. Then, though it should be true, he had left 
many debts, which his successor might be called upon 
to pay. We ventured, however, over all these difl&- 
culties, and I took her to wife, September 1st, 1730. 
None of the inconveniences happened that we had 
apprehended ; she proved a good and faithful help- 
mate, assisted me much by attending to the shop ; we 
throve together, and ever mutually endeavored to 
make each other happy. Thus I corrected that great 
erratum as well as I could. 

About this time, our club meeting, not at a tavern, 
but in a little room of Mr. Grace's, set apart for that 
purpose, a proposition was made by me, that, since 
our books were often referred to in our disquisitions 
upon the queries, it might be convenient to us to have 
them altogether where we met, that upon occasion 
they might be consulted ; and by thus clubbing our 
books in a common libra r}^ we should, wliile we liked 
to keep them together, have each of us the advantage 
of using the books of all the other members, which 
would be nearly as beneficial as if each owned the 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 95 

■whole. It was liked and agreed to, and we filled one 
end of the room with such books as we could best 
spare. The number was not so great as we expected ; 
and, though they had been of great use, yet some in- 
conveniences occurring for want of due care of them, 
the collection after about a year was separated, and 
each took his books home again. 

And now I set on foot my first project of a public 
nature, that for a subscription library. I drew up the 
proposals, got them put into form by our great scriv- 
ener, Brockden, and, by the help of my friends in the 
Junto, procured fifty subscribers of forty shillings each 
to begin with, and ten shillings a year for fifty years, 
the term our company was to continue. We after- 
wards obtained a charter, the company being increased 
to one hundred ; this was the mother of all the North 
American subscription libraries, now so numerous. It 
is become a great thing itself, and continually gbes 
on increasing. These libraries have improved the gen- 
eral conversation of the Americans, made the common 
tradesmen and farmers as intelligent as most gentle- 
men from other countries, and perhaps have contrib- 
uted in some degree to the stand so generally made 
throughout the colonies in defence of their privileges. 

At the time I established myself in Pennsylvania, 
there was not a good bookseller's shop in any of the 
colonies to the southward of Boston. In New York 
and Philadelphia, the printers were indeed stationers, 
but they sold only paper, almanacs, ballads, and a few 
common school-books. Those who loved reading were 
obliged to send for their books from England ; the 



96 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

members of tlie Junto had each a few. We had left 
the ale-house, where we first met, and hired a room to 
hold our club in. I proposed that we should all of us 
bring our books to that room, where the}^ would not 
only be ready to consult in our conferences, but be- 
come a common benefit, each of us being at liberty to 
borrow such as he wished to read at home. This was 
accordingly done, and for some time contented us. 

Finding the advantage of this little collection, I 
proposed to render the benefit from the books more 
common, by commencing a public subscription library. 
I drew a sketch of the plan and rules that would be 
necessary, and got a skilful conveyancer, Mr. Charles 
Brockden, to put the whole in form of articles of 
agreement to be subscribed ; by which each subscriber 
engaged to pay a certain sum down for the first pur- 
chase of the books, and an annual contribution for in- 
creasing them. So few were the readers at that time 
in Philadelphia, and the majority of us so poor, that I 
was not able with great industry to find more than 
fifty persons, mostly young tradesmen, willing to pay 
down for tliis purpose forty shillings each, and ten 
shillings per annum. With this little fund we began. 
The books were imported ; the library was opened one 
day in the week for lending them to the subscribers, 
on their promissory notes to pay double the value if 
not duly returned. The institution soon manifested 
its utility, was imitated by otlier towns, and in other 
provinces. The libraries were augmented by dona- 
tions ; reading became fashionable ; and our people, 
having no public amusements to divert their attention 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 97 

from study, became better acquainted with books, and 
in a few years were observed by strangers to be better 
instructed and more intelligent than people of the 
same rank generally are in other countries. 

When we were about to sign the abovementioned 
articles, which were to be binding on us, our heirs, 
etc., for fifty years, Mr. Brockden, the scrivener, said, 
to us, " You are young men, but it is scarcely probable 
that any of you will live to see the expiration of the 
term fixed in the instrument." A number of us, how- 
ever, are yet living ; but the instrument was after a 
few years rendered, null, by a charter that incorporated 
and gave perpetuity to the company. 

The objections and reluctances I met with, in so- 
liciting the subscriptions, made me soon feel the im- 
propriety of presenting one's self as the proposer of 
any useful project that might be supposed, to raise 
one's reputation in the smallest degree above that of 
one's neighbors, when one has need of their assist- 
ance to accomplish that project. I therefore put my- 
self as much as I could out of sight, and stated it as 
a scheme of a nmiiber of friends^ who had requested 
me to go about and propose it to such as i\\Qj thought 
lovers of reading. In this way my affair went on 
more smoothly, and I ever after practised it on such 
occasions ; and, from my frequent successes, can heart- 
ily recommend it. The present little sacrifice of your 
vanity will afterwards be amply repaid. If it remains 
a while uncertain to whom the merit belongs, some 
one more vain than yourself may be encouraged to 
claim it, and then even envy will be disposed to do 
7 



98 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

you justice, by plucking those assumed feathers, and 
restoring them to their right owner. 

This library afforded me the means of improve- 
ment by constant study, for which I set apart an hour 
or two each day, and thus repaired in some degree 
the loss of the learned education my father once in- 
tended for me. Reading was the only amusement I 
allowed myself. I spent no time in taverns, games, 
or frolics of any kind ; and my industry in my busi- 
ness continued as indefatigable as it was necessary. I 
was indebted for my printing-house ; I had a young 
family coming on to be educated, and I had two com- 
petitors to contend with for business, who were estab- 
lished in the place before me. My circumstances, 
however, grew daily easier. My original habits of 
frugality continuing, and my father having, among his 
instructions to me when a boy, frequently repeated a 
proverb of Solomon, " Seest thou a man diligent in 
his calling, he sliall stand before kings, he shall not 
stand before mean men," I thence considered industry 
as a means of obtaining wealth and distinction, which 
encouraged me, though I did not think that I should 
ever literally stand before hings^ which, however has 
since happened; for I have stood before ^ve, and even 
had the honor of sitting down with one, the King of 
Denmark, to dinner. 

We have an English proverb that says, " He that 
would thrive must ask his wife." It was lucky for 
me that I had one as much disjwsed to industry 
and frugality as myself. She assisted me cheerfully in 
my business, folding and stitching pamphlets, tending 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 99 

shop, purchasing old linen rags for the paper-makers, 
etc. We kept no idle servants, our table was plain 
and simple, our furniture of the cheapest. For in- 
stance, my breakfast was for a long time bread and 
milk (no tea), and I ate it out of a two-penny earthen 
porringer, with a pewter spoon. But mark how lux- 
ury will enter families, and make a progress, in spite 
of principle: being called one morning to breakfast, 
I found it in a china bowl, with a spoon of silver ! 
They had been bought for me without my knowledge 
by my wife, and had cost her the enormous sum of 
three and twenty shillings ; for which she had no other 
excuse or apology to make, but that she thought her 
husband deserved a silver spoon and china bowl as 
well as any of his neighbors. This was the first ap- 
pearance of plate and china in our house ; which after- 
wards, in the course of years, as our wealth increased, 
augmented gradually to several hundred pounds in 
value. 

In 1732, I first published my Almanac, under the 
name of Richard Saunders ; it was continued by me 
about twenty-five years, and commonly called " Poor 
Richard's Almanac." I endeavored to make it both 
entertaining and useful, and it accordingly came to be 
in such demand, that I reaped considerable profit from 
it, vending annually near ten thousand. And observ- 
ing that it was generally read, scarce any neighbor- 
hood in the province being, without it, I considered it 
as a proper vehicle for conveying instruction among the 
common people, who bought scarcely any other books. 
I therefore filled all the little spaces, that occurred be- 



100 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

tween the remarkable days in the calendar, with pro- 
verbial sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry 
and frugality as the means of procuring wealth, and 
thereby securing virtue ; it being more difficult for a 
man in want to act always honestly, as, to use here 
one of those proverbs, It is hard for mi empty sack to 
stand upright. 

These proverbs, which contained the wisdom of 
many ages and nations, I assembled and formed into a 
connected discourse prefixed to the Almanac of 1757, 
as the harangue of a Avise old man to the people at- 
tending an auction. The bringing all these scattered 
counsels thus into a focus enabled them to make 
greater impression. The piece, being universally ap- 
proved, was copied in all the newspapers of the Amer- 
ican Continent, reprinted in Britain on a large sheet of 
paper, to be stuck up in houses ; two translations were 
made of it in F'rance, and great numbers bought by 
the clergy and gentry to distribute gratis among their 
poor parishioners and tenants. In Pennsylvania, as 
it discouraged useless expense in foreign superfluities, 
some thought it had its share of influence in produc- 
ing that growing plenty of money, which was observ- 
able for several years after its publication. 

After ten years' absence . from Boston, and having 
become easy in my circumstances, I made a journey 
thither to visit my relations, which I could not sooner 
afford. In returning I called at Newport to see my 
brother James, then settled there with his printing- 
house. Our former differences were forgotten, and our 
meeting was very cordial and affectionate. He was 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 101 

fast declining in health, and requested me, that, in 
case of his death, which he apprehended not far dis- 
tant, I would take home his son, then but ten years of 
age, and bring him up to the printing business. This 
I accordingly performed, sending him a few years to 
school before I took- him into the office. His mother 
carried on the business till he was grown up, when I 
assisted him with an assortment of new types, those 
of his father being in a manner worn out. Thus it 
was that I made my brother ample amends for the 
service I had deprived him of by leaving him so early. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS 



JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 



JoHX and Abigail Adams were married October 25, 1764. They 
lived partly in Boston, partly iu Braiutree, now Qniucy. He left 
home Angust 10, 1774, as delegate to the Continental Congress, which 
met at Philadelphia, September 5. He left again April 14, 1775, to 
attend the second meeting of Congress in Philadelphia, May 10, and 
there remained, with the exception of two short visits at home, until 
after the Declaration of Independence. These are a part of his and 
his wife's letters during their separation. 



JOH:?^" and ABIGAIL ADAMS. 



1, Braintree, 15 August, 1774. 

I KNOW not where this will find you, Avhether upon 
the road or at Philadelphia, but wherever it is, I hope 
it will find you in good health and spirits. Your 
journey, I imagine, must have been very tedious from 
the extreme heat of the weather and the dustiness of 
the roads. We are burnt up with the drought, having 
had no rain since you left us, nor is there the least 
appearance of any. 

I was much gratified upon the return of some of 
your friends from Watertown, who gave me an account 
of your social dinner and friendly parting. May your 
return merit and meet with the grateful acknowledg- 
ments of every well-wisher to their country. Your 
task is difiicult and important. Heaven direct and 
prosper you. 

Our little ones send their duty to their papa, and 
that which at all times and in all places evermore at- 
tends you is the most affectionate regard of your 

Abigail Adams. 

2. Braintree, 19 August, 1774. 
The great distance between us makes the time ap- 
pear very long to ine. It seems already a month since 



4 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

you left me. The great anxiety I feel for my coun- 
try, for you, and for our family, renders the day tedi- 
ous and the night unpleasant. The rocks and quick- 
sands appear upon every side. What course you can 
or will take is all wrapped in the bosom of futurity. 
Uncertainty and expectation leave the mind great 
scope. Did ever any kingdom or state regain its lib- 
erty, when once it was invaded, without bloodshed? 
I cannot think of it without horror. Yet we are told 
that all the misfortunes of Sparta were occasioned by 
their too great solicitude for present tranquillity, and, 
from an excessive love of peace, they neglected the 
means of making it sure and lasting. They ought 
to have reflected, says Polybius, that " as there is 
nothing more desirable or advantageous than peace, 
when founded in justice and honor, so there is noth- 
ing more shameful, and at the same time more perni- 
cious, when attained by bad measures and purchased 
at the price of liberty." I have received a most charm- 
ing letter from our friend Mrs. Warren. ^ She desires 
me to tell you that her best wishes attend you through 
your journey, both as a friend and a patriot. 

I have taken a very great fondness for reading 
" Rollin's Ancient History " since you left me. I am 
determined to go through with it, if possible, in these 
my days of solitude. I find great pleasure and enter- 
tainment from it, and I have persuaded Johnny ^ to 
read me a page or two every day, and hope he will, 

1 Mercy Wiirren, the sister of James Otis, and the wife of Colonel 
James Warren of Plymouth. 

2 John Quincy Adams, then seven years old. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 5 

from his desire to oblige me, entertain a fondness for 
it. We have had a charming rain, which lasted twelve 
hours and has greatly revived the dying fruits of the 
earth. 

I want much to hear from you. I long impatiently 
to have you upon the stage of action. The first of 
September, or the month of September, perhaps, may 
be of as much importance to Great Britain as the 
Ides of March ^ were to Ccesar. I wish you every 
jDublic as well as private blessing, and that wisdom 
which is profitable both for instruction and edification 
to conduct you in this difficult day. The little flock 
remember papa, and kindly wish to see him ; so does 
your most affectionate. A. A. 

3. Princeton, New Jersey, 28 Aurjust, 1774. 

I received your kind letter at New York, and it 
is not easy for you to imagine the pleasure it has 
given me. I have not found a single opportunity to 
write since I left Boston, excepting by the post, and I 
don't choose to write by that conveyance, for fear of 
foul play. But as we ai'e now within forty-two miles 
of Philadel23hia, I hope there to find some private 
hand by which I can convey this. 

The particulars of our journey I must reserve, to 
be communicated after my return. It would take a 
volume to describe the whole. It has been upon the 
whole an agreeable jaunt. We have had opportuni- 
ties to see the world, and to form acquaintances with 
the most eminent and famous men in the several col- 
1 The day of Caesar's assassination. 



6 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

onies we have passed through. We have been treated 
with unbounded civility, complaisance, and respect. 
We yesterday visited Nassau Hall ^ College, and were 
politely treated by the scholars, tutors, professors, 
and president, whom we are this day to hear preach. 
To-morrow we reach the theatre of action. God Al- 
mighty grant us wisdom and virtue sufficient for the 
high trust that is devolved upon us. The spirit of 
the people, wherever we have been, seems to be very 
favorable. They universally consider our cause as 
their own, and express the firmest resolution to abide 
by the determination of the Congress. 

I am anxious for our perplexed, distressed province ; ^ 
hope they will be directed into the right path. Let 
me entreat you, my dear, to make yourself as easy 
and quiet as possible. Resignation to the will of 
Heaven is our only resource in such dangerous times. 
Prudence and caution should be our guides. I have 
the strongest hopes that we shall yet see a clearer sky 
and better times. 

Remember my tender love to little Abby ; tell her 
she must write me a letter and inclose it in the next 
you send. I am charmed with your amusement with 
our little Johnny. Tell him I am glad to hear he is 
so good a boy as to read to his mamma for her enter- 
tainment, and to keep himself out of the company of 
rude children. Tell him I hope to hear a good account 
of his accidence and nomenclature when I return. 

Your account of the rain refreshed me. I hope our 
husbandry is prudently and industriously managed. 
1 Now Princeton. 2 Massachusetts. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 7 

Frugality must be our support. Our expenses in this 
journey will be very great. Our only [recompense 
will ^] be the consolatory reflection that we toil, spend 
our tjme, and [encounter] dangers for the public good 
— happy indeed if we do any good. 

The education of our children is never out of my 
mind. Train them to virtue. Habituate them to in- 
dustry, activity, and spirit. Make them consider every 
vice as shameful and unmanly. Fire them with ambi- 
tion to be useful. Make them disdain to be destitute 
of any useful or ornamental knowledge or accomplish- 
ment. Fix their ambition upon great and solid ob- 
jects, and their contempt upon little, frivolous, and 
useless ones. It is time, my dear, for you to begin to 
teach them French. Every decency, grace, and hon- 
esty should be inculcated upon them. I am, with the 
tenderest affection and concern, 

Your wandering JoHN Adams. 

4. Philadelphia, 8 September, 1774. 

When or where this letter will find you I know not. 
In what scenes of distress and terror I cannot foresee. 
We have received a confused account from Boston of a 
dreadful catastrophe. The particulars we have not 
heard. We are waiting with the utmost anxiety and 
impatience for further intelligence. The effect of the 
news we have, both upon the Congress and the inhab- 
itants of this city, was very great. Great indeed ! 
Every gentleman seems to consider the bombardment ^ 
of Boston as the bombardment of the capital of his 

1 The words in brackets supplied, as the manuscript is defective. 

2 A false alarm. 



8 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

own province. Our deliberations are grave and seri- 
ous indeed. 

We cannot depart from this place until the business 
of the Congress is completed, and it is the general dis- 
position to proceed slowly. When I shall be at home 
I can't say. If there is distress and danger in Boston, 
pray invite our friends, as many as possible, to take an 
asylum with you. There is in this Congress a collec- 
tion of the greatest men upon this continent in point of 
abilities, virtues, and fortunes. The magnanimity and 
public spirit which I see here make me blush for the 
sordid, venal herd which I have seen in my own prov- 
ince. The addressers and the new councillors ^ are 
held in universal contempt and abhorrence from one 
end of the continent to the other. 

Be not under any concern for me. There is little 
danger from anything we shall do at the Congress. 
There is such a spirit through the colonies, and the 
members o£ the Congress are such characters, that no 
danger can happen to us which will not involve the 
whole continent in universal desolation ; and in that 
case, who would wish to live ? Adieu. J. A. 

5. Braintree, 14 September, 1774. 

Five weeks have passed and not one line have I re- 
ceived. I would rather give a dollar for a letter by 
the post, though the consequence should be that I ate 
but one meal a day these three weeks to come. Every 
one I see is inquiring after you, when did I hear. All 
my intelligence is collected from the newspaper, and I 
1 Both addressers aud councillors were on the Tory side. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 9 

can only reply that I saw by that you arrived such a 
day. I know your fondness for writing, and your in- 
clination to let me hear from you by the first safe con- 
veyance, which makes me suspect that some letter or 
other has miscarried ; but I hope, now you have ar- 
rived at Philadelphia, you will find means to convey 
nie some intelligence. 

We are all well here. I think I enjoy better health 
than I have done these two years. I have not been 
to town since I parted with you there. The governor ^ 
is making all kinds of warlike preparations, such as 
mounting cannon upon Beacon Hill, digging intrench- 
ments upon the Neck, placing cannon there, encamp- 
ing a regiment there, throwing up breastworks, etc. 
The people are much alarmed, and the selectmen have 
waited upon him in consequence of it. The County ^ 
Congress have also sent a committee ; all which pro- 
ceedings you will have a more particular account of 
than I am able to give you from the public papers. 
But as to the movements of this town, perhaps you 
may not hear them from any other person > 

In consequence of the powder being taken from 
Charlestown, a general alarm spread through many 
towns and was caught pretty soon here. The report 
took here on Friday, and on Sunday a soldier was seen 
lurking about the Common, supposed to be a spy, but 
most likely a deserter. However, intelligence of it 
was communicated to the other parishes, and about 
eight o'clock Sunday evening there passed by here 
about two hundred men, preceded by a horse-cart, and 
1 General Gage. 2 Qf Suffolk. 



10 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

marched down to the powder-house, from whence they 
took the powder, and carried it into the other parish, 
and there secreted it. I opened the window upon their 
return. They passed without any noise, not a word 
among tliem till they came against this house, when 
some of them, perceiving me, asked me if I wanted 
any powder. I replied. No, since it was in so good 
hands. The reason they gave for taking it was that 
we had so many Tories here, they dared not trust us 
with it ; they had taken Vinton ^ in their train, and 
upon their return they stopped between Cleverly's 
and Etter's, and called upon him to deliver two war- 
rants.2 Upon his producing them, they put it to vote 
whether they should burn them, and it passed in the 
affirmative. They then made a circle and burnt them. 
They then called a vote whether they should huzza, 
but, it being Sunday evening, it passed in the nega- 
tive. They called upon Vinton to swear that he would 
never be instrumental in carrying into execution any 
of these new acts. They were not satisfied with his 
answers ; however, they let him rest. A few days 
afterwards, upon his making some foolish speeches, 
they assembled to the amount of two or three hun- 
dred, and swore vengeance upon him unless he took a 
solemn oath. Accordingly, they chose a committee 
and sent it with him to INIajor Miller's to see that he 
complied ; and they Avaited his return, which proving 
satisfactory^, they dispersed. This town appears as 
high as you can well imagine, and, if necessary, would 

1 Sheriff of Norfolk County. 

2 Writs to siimmou juries iu the Tory interest. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. II 

soon be in arms. Not a Tory but hides his head. 
The church parson thought they were coming after 
him, and ran up garret ; they say another jumped out 
of his window and hid among the corn, whilst a third 
crept under his board fence and told his beads. 

16 September, 1774. 

I dined to-day at Colonel Quincy's. They were so 
kind as to send me and Abby ^ and Betsey ^ an invita- 
tion to spend the day with them ; and, as I had not 
been to see them since I removed to Braintree, I ac- 
cepted the invitation. 

Upon my return at night, Mr. Thaxter met me at 
the door with your letter, dated at Princeton, New 
Jersey. It really gave me such a flow of spirits that 
I was not composed enough to sleep until one o'clock. 
I am rejoiced to hear you are well. I want to know 
many more particulars than you write me, and hcJpe 
soon to hear from you again. I dare not trust myself 
with the thought how long you may perhaps be absent. 
I only count the weeks already past, and they amount 
to five. I am not so lonely as I should have been 
without my two neighbors : ^ we make a tableful at 
meal times. All the rest of their time they spend in 
the office. Never were two persons who gave a family 
less trouble than they do. It is at last determined 
that Mr. Rice keep the school here. Indeed, he has 
kept ever since he has been here, but not witli any ex- 

1 Her daughter. 2 jjgj. sister. 

^ John Thaxter, already mentioned, and Nathan Rice, both clerks 
in Mr. Adams's law-ofRce. 



12 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

pectation that he should be continued ; but the peo- 
ple, finding no small difference between him and his 
predecessor, chose he should be continued. I have 
not sent Johnny. He goes very steadily to j\Ir. Thax- 
ter, who, I believe, takes very good care of him; and 
as they seem to have a liking to each other, I believe 
it will be best to continue him with him. However, 
when you return, we can consult what will be best. 
I am certain that, if he does not get so much good, he 
gets less harm ; and I have always thought it of very 
great importance that children should, in the early 
part of life, be unaccustomed to such examples as 
would tend to corrupt the purity of their words and 
actions, that they may chill with horror at the sound 
of an oath, and blush with indignation at an obscene 
expression. These first principles, which grow with 
their growth, and strengthen with their strength, 
neither time nor custom can totally eradicate. 

You will perhaps be tired. No. Let it serve by 
way of relaxation from the more important concerns 
of the day, and be such an amusement as your little 
hermitage used to afford you liere. You have before 
you the greatest national concerns that ever came 
before any people ; and if the prayers and petitions 
ascend unto heaven which are daily offered for you, 
wisdom will flow down as a stream, and righteousness 
as the mighty waters, and your deliberations will make 
glad the cities of our God. 

You will burn all these letters, lest they should fall 
from your pocket, and thus expose your most affec- 
tionate friend, A. A. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 13 

6, Philadelphia, 16 September, 1774. 

Having a leisure moment, while the Congress is as- 
sembling, I gladly embrace it to write you a line. 

When the Congress first met, Mr. Cushing ^ made 
a motion that it should be opened with prayer. It 
was opposed by Mr. Jay, of New York, and Mr. Rut- 
ledge, of South Carolina, because we were so divided 
in religious sentiments, — some Episcopalians, some 
Quakers, some Anabaptists, some Presbyterians, and 
some Congregationalists, — that we could not join in 
the same act of worship. Mr. Samuel Adams arose, 
and said he was no bigot, and could hear a prayer 
from a gentleman of piety and virtue, who was at the 
same time a friend to his country. He was a stranger 
in Philadelphia, but had heard that Mr. Duche (Du- 
shay they pronounce it) deserved that character, and 
therefore he moved that Mr. Duche, an Episcopal 
clergyman, might be desired to read prayers to the 
Congress to-morrow morning. The motion was sec- 
onded and passed in the affirmative. Mr. Randolph, 
our president, waited on Mr. Duche, and received for 
answer that if his health would permit he certainly 
would. Accordingly, next morning he appeared with 
his clerk and in his pontificals, and read several pray- 
ers in the established form ; and then read the Col- 
lect for the seventh day of September, which was the 
thirty-fifth Psalm. You must remember this was the 
next morning after we heard the horrible rumor of 
the cannonade of Boston. I never saw a greater effect 
upon an audTience. It seemed as if Heaven had or- 
dained that Psalm to be read on that morning. 
1 Thomas Cushing, of Massachusetts. 



14 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

After this, Mr. Duclie, unexpected to everybody, 
struck out into an extemporary prayer, wliicli filled 
the bosom of every man present. I must confess I 
never heard a better prayer, or one so well pro- 
nounced. Episcopalian as he is. Dr. Cooper ^ himself 
never prayed with such fervor, such ardor, such ear- 
nestness and pathos, and in language so elegant and 
sublime, — for America, for the Congress, for the 
Province of Massachusetts Bay, and especially the 
town of Boston. It has had an excellent effect upon 
everybody here. I must beg you to read that Psalm. 
If there was any faith in the Sortes Biblica?, it would 
be thought providential. 

It will amuse your friends to read this letter and 
the thirty-fifth Psalm to them. Read it to your 
father,^ and Mr. Wibird.^ I wonder what our Brain- 
tree churchmen will think of this! Mr. Duch^ is 
one of the most ingenious men, and best characters, 
and greatest orators in the Episcopal order, upon this 
continent. Yet a zealous friend of liberty and his 
country. 

I long to see ra^ dear family. God bless, preserve, 
and prosper it. Adieu. j. A. 

7. 18 Septemher, 1774. 

I received your very agreeable letter, which gave 
me much pleasure. I have wrote several letters, but 
whether they have reached you I know not. There 

1 Minister of Mr. Adams's parish in Boston. 

2 Eev. William Smith, of Weymouth. 

^ Minister of Mr. Adams's parish iu Braiutree. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 15 

is so much rascality in the management of letters 
now come in fashion, that I am determined to write 
nothing of consequence, not even to the friend of 
my bosom, but by conveyances which I can be sure 
of. The proceedings of the Congress are all a pro- 
found secret as yet, except two votes which w^ere 
passed yesterday, and ordered to be printed. You 
will see them from every quarter. These votes were 
passed in full Congress with perfect unanimity. The 
esteem, the affection, the admiration for the people of 
Boston and the Massachusetts which were expressed 
yesterday, and the fixed determination that they 
should be supported, were enough to melt a heart of 
stone. I saw the tears gush into the eyes of the old 
grave pacific Quakers of Pennsylvania. You cannot 
conceive, my dear, the hurry of business, visits, cere- 
monies, which we are obliged to go through. 

We have a delicate course to steer between to6 
much activity and too much insensibility in our crit- 
ical, interested situation. I flatter myself, however, 
that we shall conduct ourselves in such a manner as 
to merit the approbation of our country. It has taken 
us much time to get acquainted with the tempers, 
views, characters, and designs of persons, and to let 
them into the circumstances of our province. My 
dear, do entreat every friend I have to write me. 
Every line which comes from our friends is greedily 
inquired after, and our letters have done us vast ser- 
vice. Middlesex and Suffolk have acquired unbounded 
honor here. 

There is no idea of submission here in anybody's 
head. 



16 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

Thank my dear Nabby ^ for her letter. Tell lier it 
has given nie great spirit. Kiss all my sweet ones 
for me. Adieu. j. A. 

8. Boston Garrison, 24 September, 1774. 

I have just returned from a visit to my brother, 
with my father, who carried me there the day before 
yesterday, and called here on my return, to see this 
much injured town. I view it with much the same 
sensations that I should the body of a departed friend 
— having only put off its present glory for to rise 
finally to a more happy state. I will not despair, but 
will believe that, our cause being good, wo shall finally 
prevail. The maxim, " In time of peace prepare for 
war " (if this may be called a time of peace), resounds 
throughout the country. Next Tuesday they are 
warned at Braintree, all above fifteen and under sixty, 
to attend with their arms ; and to train once a fort- 
night from that time is a scheme which lies much at 
heart with many. 

There has been in town a conspiracy of the negroes. 
At present it is kept pretty private. It was discov- 
ered by one who endeavored to dissuade them from it. 
He, being threatened with his life, applied to Justice 
Quincy for protection. They conducted in this way : 
got an Irishman to draw up a petition to the governor, 
telling him they would fight for him, provided he 
would arm them and engage to liberate them if he 
conquered. And it is said that he attended so much 
to it as to consult Percy ^ upon it ; and one Lieutenant 
1 His only daughter. 2 Lord Percy of the British army. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 17 

Small has been very busj^ and active. There is but 
little said, and what steps they will take in conse- 
quence of it I know not. I wish most sincerely there 
was not a slave in the province. It always appeared 
a most iniquitous scheme to me — to fight ourselves 
for what we are daily robbing and jilundering from 
those who have as good a right to freedom as we have. 
You know my mind upon this subject. 

I left all our little ones well, and shall return to 
them to-night. I hope to hear from you by the re- 
turn of the bearer of this, and by Revere. I long for 
the day of your return, yet look upon you as much 
safer where you are — but I know it will not do for 
you. Not one action has been brouglit to this court ; 
no business of any sort in your way. All law ceases, 
and the gospel will soon follow, for they are support- 
ers of each other. Adieu. My father hurries me. 
Yours most sincerely, A. A.' 

9, Philadelphia, 7 October, 1774. 

I thank you for all your kind favors. I wish I 
could write to you much oftener than I do. I wish I 
could write to you a dozen letters every day. But 
the business before me is so arduous, and takes up my 
time so entirely, that I cannot write oftener. I had 
the characters and tempers, the principles and views, 
of fifty gentlemen, total strangers to me, to stud}^, 
and the trade, policy, and whole interest of a dozen 
provinces to learn, when I came here. I have multi- 
tudes of pamphlets, newspapers, and private letters to 
read. I have numberless plans of policy and many 
2 



18 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

arguments to consider. I have many visits to make 
and receive, much ceremony to endure, which cannot 
be avoided, which, you know, I hate. 

There is a great spirit in the Congress. But our 
people must be peaceable. Let them exercise every 
day in the week if they will, the more the better. 
Let them furnish themselves with artillery, arms, and 
ammunition. Let them follow the maxim which you 
say they have adopted, " In times of peace prepare 
for war." But let them avoid war if possible — if pos- 
sible, I say. 

Mr. Revere will bring you the doings of the Con- 
gress, who are now all around me, debating what ad- 
vice to give to Boston and the Massachusetts Bay. 

We are all well ; hope our family is so. Remember 
me to them all. I have advised you before to remove 
my office from Boston to Braintree. It is now, I 
think, absolutely necessary. Let the best care be 
taken of all books and papers. Tell all my clerks to 
mind their books and study hard, for their country 
will stand in need of able counsellors. 

Adieu, my dear wife. God bless you and yours ; so 
wishes and prays, without ceasing, j. A. 

10. Braintree, 16 October, 1774. 

My much loved Friend, — I dare not express to 
you, at three hundred miles' distance, how ardently I 
long for your return. I have some very miserly wishes, 
and cannot coiisent to your spending one hour in town 
till, at least, I have had you twelve. The idea plays 
about my heart, unnerves my hand, whilst I write ; 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 19 

awakens all the tender sentiments that years have in- 
creased and matured, and which, when with me, every 
day was dispensing to you. The whole collected stock 
of ten weeks' absence knows not how to brook any 
longer restraint, but will break forth and flow through 
my pen. JNIay the like sensations enter thy breast, and 
(spite of all the weighty cares of state) mingle them- 
selves with those I wish to communicate ; for, in giv- 
ing them utterance, I have felt more sincere pleasure 
than I have known since the 10th of August.^ Many 
have been the anxious hours I have spent since that 
day ; the threatening aspect of our public affairs, the 
complicated distress of this province, the arduous and 
perplexed business in which you are engaged, have all 
conspired to agitate my bosom with fears and appre- 
hensions to which I have heretofore been a stranger ; 
and, far from thinking the scene closed, it looks as 
though the curtain was but just drawn, and only the 
first scene of the infernal plot disclosed. And whether 
the end will be tragical, Heaven alone knows. You 
cannot be, I know, nor do I wish to see you, an inact- 
ive spectator ; but if the sword be drawn, I bid adieu 
to all domestic felicity, and look forward to that coun- 
try where there are neither Avars nor rumors of war, 
in a firm belief that, through the mercy of its King, 
we shall both rejoice there together. 

I greatly fear that the arm of treachery and violence 

is lifted over us, as a scourge and heavy punishment 

from Heaven for our numerous offences, and for the 

misimprovement of our great advantages. If we ex- 

1 The day he left home. 



20 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

pect to inherit the blessings of our fatliers, we should 
return a little more to their primitivo simplicity of 
manners, and not sink into inglorious ease. We have 
too many high-sounding words, and too few actions 
that correspond with them. I have spent one Sabbath 
in town since you left. I saw no difference in respect 
to ornament, etc. ; but in the country you must look 
for that virtue, of which you find but small glimmer- 
ings in the metropolis. Indeed, they have not the 
advantages, nor the resolution, to encourage our own 
manufactories, which people in the country have. To 
the mercantile part, it is considered as throwing away 
their own bread ; but they must retrench their ex- 
penses, and be content with a small share of gain, for 
they will find but few who will wear their livery. As 
for me, I will seek wool and flax, and work willingly 
with my hands ; and indeed there is occasion for all 
our industry and economy. You mention the removal 
of our books, etc., from Boston ; I believe they are safe 
there, and it would incommode the gentlemen to re- 
move them, as they would not then have a place to 
repair to for study. 

Your mother sends her love to you ; and all your 
family, too numerous to name, desire to be remem- 
bered. You will receive letters from two who are as 
earnest to write to papa as if the welfare of a king- 
dom depended upon it.^ 

1 One of these letters has been preserved : — 

October 13, 1774. 

Sir, — I have been trying ever since you went away to learn to 
write you a letter. I shall make poor work of it ; but, sir, mamma 
says you will accept my endeavors; and that my duty to you nuiy be 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 21 

If you can give any guess, within a month, let me 
know when you think of returning. 

Your most affectionate A. A. 

11. 1 May, 1775. 

It is arrogance and presumption, in human sagacity, 
to pretend to penetrate far into the designs of Heaven. 
The most perfect reverence and resignation becomes 
us, but I cannot help depending upon this, that the 
present dreadful calamity of that beloved town ^ is in- 
tended to bind the colonies together in more indissolu- 
ble bonds, and to animate their exertions at this great 
crisis in the affairs of mankind. It has this effect in a 
most remarkable degree, as far as I have yet seen or 
heard. It will plead with all America with more irre- 
sistible persuasion than angels trumpet-tongued. 

In a cause which interests the whole globe, at a time 
when my friends and country are in such keen distress, 
I am scarcely ever interrupted in the least degree by 
apprehensions for my personal safety. I am often con- 
cerned for you and our dear babes, surrounded, as you 
are, by people who are too timorous and too much sus- 
ceptible of alarms. Many fears and jealousies and 
imaginary dangers will be suggested to you, but I hope 
you will not be impressed by them. In case of real 
danger, of which you cannot fail to have previous inti- 

expressed in poor writing as well as good. I hope I grow a better boy, 
and that you will have no occasion to be ashamed of me when you re- 
turn. ]Mr. Thaxter says I learn my books well. He is a very good 
master. I read my books to mamma. We all long to see you. I am 
sir, your dutiful sou, John Quincy Adams. 

1 Boston. 



22 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

mations, fly to the woods with our children. Give my 
tenderest love to them, and to all. j. A. 

12. Braintkee, 24 May, 1775. 

I suppose you have had a formidable account of 
the alarm we had last Sunday morning. When I 
rose, about six o'clock, I was told that the drums had 
been some time beating, and that three ahirm guns 
were fired ; that Weymouth bell had been ringing, 
and Mr. Weld's ^ was then ringing. I immediately 
sent off an express to know the occasion, and found 
the whole town in confusion. Three sloops and one 
cutter had come out and dropped anchor just below 
Great Hill. It was difficult to tell their designs ; 
some supposed they were coming to Germautown, 
others to Weymouth ; people, Avomen, children, from 
the iron-works, came flocking down this way ; every 
woman and child driven off from below my father's ; 
my father's family flying. The Dr.^ is in great dis-- 
tress, as you may well imagine, for my aunt had her 
bed thrown into a cart, into which she got herself, and 
ordered the boy to drive her to Bridgewater, which he 
did. The report was to them that three hundred had 
landed, and were upon their march up into town. 
The alarm flew like lightning, and men from all parts 
came flocking down, till two thousand were collected. 
But it seems their expedition was to Grape Island for 
Levett's hay. There it was impossible to reach them, 

1 Mcetini;-house in South Braiiitree. 

2 Dr. Tufts, of Weymouth, who had married an aunt of Mrs. 
Adams. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 23 

for want of boats ; but the sight of so many persons, 
and the firing at them, prevented their getting more 
than three tons of hay, though they had carted much 
more down to the water. At last a lighter was mus- 
tered, and a sloop from Hingham, which had six port- 
holes. Our men eagerly jumped on board, and put 
off for the island. As soon as they perceived it, they 
decamped. Our people landed upon the island, and 
in an instant set fire to the hay, which, with the barn, 
was soon consumed, — about eighty tons, it is said. 
We expect soon to be in continual alarms, till some- 
thing decisive takes place. 

We wait, with longing expectation, in hopes to hear 
the best accounts from you, with regard to union and 
harmony, etc. We rejoice greatly on the arrival of 
Dr. Franklin, as he must certainly be able to inform 
you very particularly of the situation of affairs in 
England. I wish you would, if you can get time, be 
as particular as you may when you write. Every one 
hereabouts comes to me, to hear what accounts I 
have. We have a flying report here, with regard to 
New York, but cannot give any credit to it as yet, 
that they had been engaged with the ships, which 
Gage sent there, and had taken them, with great loss 
upon both sides. 

Yesterday we had an account of three ships coming 
into Boston. I believe it is true, as there was a salute 
from the other ships, though I have not been able to 
learn from whence they come. I suppose you have 
had an account of the fire, wdiicli did much damage to 
the warehoilses, and added greatly to the distresses of 



24 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

the inhabitunts, whilst it continued. The bad con- 
duct of General Gage ^ was the means of its doing so 
much damage. 

Our house has been, upon this ahirm, in the same 
scene of confusion that it was upon the former. Sol- 
diers coming in for a lodging, for breakfast, for sup- 
per, for drink, etc. Sometimes refugees from Boston, 
tired and fatigued, seek an asylum for a day, a night, 
a week. You can hardly imagine how we live ; yet, — 

" To the houseless child of want, 
Our doors are opeu still ; 
Aud though our jjortions are but scaut, 
We give them with good will. 

My best wishes attend you, both for y^our health and 
happiness, and that you may be directed into the 
wisest and best measures for our safety and the secu- 
rity of our posterity. I wish you were nearer to us ; 
we know not what a day will bring forth, nor what 
distress one hour may throw us into. Hitherto I 
have been able to maintain a calmness and presence 
of mind, and hope I shall, let the exigency of the 
time be what it will. Adieu, breakfast calls. 

Your affectionate, POETIA.^ 

13, 10 June, 1775. 

Dr. Church returns to-day, and, with smarting eyes, 
I must write a few lines to you. I never had in my 
life such severe duty to do, and was never worse 
qualified to do it. My eyes depress my spirits, and 

1 Wlio had seized the fire-engines of Boston. 

2 The uanie of Brutus's wife. ' 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 25 

my health is quite infirm. Yet I keep about, and 
attend Congress very constantly. 

I wish I could write freely to you, my dear, but I 
cannot. The scene before me is complicated enough. 
It requires better eyes and better nerves than mine ; 
yet I will not despond. I will lay all difficulties 
prostrate at my feet. My health and life ought to 
be hazarded in the cause of my country, as well as 
yours, and all my friends. 

It is impossible to convey to you any adequate idea 
of the embarrassments I am under. I wish that you 
and our friends may not be in greater distress than I 
am. I fear you are. Pray let me know as often as 
possible. Our friends don't let us know the state of 
Boston people, nor the state of the army in Boston, 
so exactly as I could wish. 

Two days ago we saw a very wonderful phenome- 
non in this city : a field-day, on which three battalions 
of soldiers were reviewed, making full two thousand 
men, battalion men, light infantry, grenadiers, rifle- 
men, light horse, artillery men with a fine train, all 
in uniforms, going through the manual exercise and 
the manoeuvres with remarkable dexterity. All this 
has been accomplished in this city since the 19th of 
April ; so sudden a formation of an army never took 
place anywhere. 

In Congress we are bound to secrecy. But, under 
the rose, I believe that ten thousand men will be main- 
tained in the Massachusetts, and five thousand in New 
York, at the Continental expense. 

We have a Major Skene, just arrived from London 



26 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

with a commission to be governor of Crown Point 
and Ticonderoga, and suvve^-or of the woods, etc., a 
close prisoner. He must dispute for his government 
with Arnold and Allen.^ My love and duty where 
due. J. A. 

14. Weymoutii,2 15 June, 1775. 

I sat down to write you on Monday, but really 
could not compose myself sufficiently ; the anxiety I 
suffered from not hearing one syllable from you for 
more than five weeks, and the new distress arising 
from the arrival of recruits, agitated me more than I 
have been since the never-to-be-forgotten I4th of 
April.3 I have been much revived by receiving two 
letters from you last night ; one by the servant of 
your friend, and the other by the gentlemen you 
mention, though they both went to Cambridge, and 
I have not seen them. I hope to send this as a re- 
turn to you. 

I feared much for your health, when you went 
away. I must entreat you to be as careful as you 
can consistently with the duty you owe your country. 
That consideration, alone, prevailed with me to con- 
sent to your departure in a time so perilous and so 
hazardous to your family, and with a body so infirui 
as to require the tenderest care and nursing. I wish 
you may be supported and divinely assisted in this 
most important crisis, when the fate of empire de- 

1 Who had taken Ticonderoga, May 10. 

2 At her fatlier's house. 

8 The day of his leaving home. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 27 

pencls upon your wisdom and conduct. I greatly re- 
joice to bear of your union and determination to stand 
by us. 

We cannot but consider the great distance you are 
from us as a very great misfortune, when our critical 
situation renders it necessary to hear from you every 
week, and will be more and more so, as difficulties 
arise. We now expect our seacoast ravaged ; perhaps 
the very next letter I write will inform you that I am 
driven away from our yet quiet cottage. Necessity 
will oblige Gage to take some desperate steps. We 
are told for truth that he is now eight thousand 
strong. We live in continual expectation of alarms. 
Courage I know wc have in abundance ; conduct I 
hope we shall not want ; but powder, — where shall 
we get a sufficient supply ? I wish we may not fail 
there. Every town is filled with the distressed inhab- 
itants of Boston. Our house ^ among others is de- 
serted, and by this time, like enough, made use of as 
a barrack. Mr. Bowdoin and his lady are at present 
in the house of Mrs. Borland, and are going to Mid- 
dleborough, to the house of Judge Oliver. He, poor 
gentleman, is so low that I apprehend he is hastening 
to a house not made with hands ; he looks like a mere 
skeleton, speaks faint and low, is racked with a vio- 
lent cough, and, I think, far advanced in a consump- 
tion. I went to see him last Saturday. He is very 
inquisitive of every person with regard to the times ; 
begged I would let him know of the first intelhgence 
I had from you ; is very unable to converse by reason 
1 In Boston. 



28 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

of his cough. He rides every pleasant day, and has 
been kind enough to call at the door (though unable 
to get out) several times. He says the very name of 
Hutchinson ^ distresses him. Speaking of him, the 
other day, he broke out, " Religious rascal ! how I 
abhor his name ! " 

Pray be as particular as possible when you write. 
Everybody wants to hear and to know what is doing, 
and what may be communicated do not fail to inform 
me of. All our friends desire to be kindly remem- 
bered to you. Gage's proclamation you will receive 
by this conveyance. All the records of time cannot 
produce a blacker page. Satan, when driven from the 
regions of bliss, exhibited not more malice. Surely 
the father of lies is superseded. Yet we think it the 
best proclamation he could have issued. 

I shall, whenever I can, receive and entertain, in 
the best manner I am capable, the gentlemen who 
have so generously proffered their services in our 
army. Government is wanted in the army and else- 
where. We see the want of it more from so large a 
body being together, than when each individual was 
employed in his own domestic circle. My best re- 
gards attend every man you esteem. You will make 
my compliments to Mr. Mifflin and lady. I do not 
now wonder at the regard the ladies express for a sol- 
dier. Every man who wears a cockade appears of 
double the importance he used to do, and I feel a 
respect for the lowest subaltern in the army. You tell 
me you know not when you shall see me. I never 
1 Who had been irovernov of Massachusetts. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 29 

trust myself long with the terrors which sometimes 
intrude themselves upon me. 

I hope we shall see each other again, and rejoice 
together in happier days ; the little ones are well, and 
send duty to papa. Don't fail of letting me hear from 
you by eveiy opportunity. Every line is like a jare- 
cious relic of the saints. 

I have a request to make of j'ou ; something like 
the barrel of sand, I suppose you will think it, but 
really of much more importance to me. It is, that 
you would send out Mr. Bass, and purchase me a 
bundle of pins and put them in your trunk for me. 
The cry for pins is so great that what T used to buy 
for seven shillings and sixpence are now twenty shil- 
lings, and not to be had for that. A bundle contains 
six thousand, for which I used to give a dollar ; but 
if you can procure them for fifty shillings, or three 
pounds,^ pi'^y let me have them. 

I am, with the tenderest regard, 

Your Portia. 

15. Philadelphia, 17 June, 1775. 

I can now inform you that the Congress have made 
choice of the modest and virtuous, the amiable, gen- 
erous, and brave George Washington, Esquire, to be 
General of the American army, and that he is to re- 
pair, as soon as possible, to the camp before Boston. 
This appointment will have a great effect in cement- 
ing and securing the union of these colonies. The 
continent is really in earnest in defending the coun- 

1 Ten dollars. 



30 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

try. They have voted ten companies of riflemen to 
be sent from Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia, 
to join the army before Boston. These are an excel- 
lent species of light infantry. They use a peculiar 
kind of musket, called a rifle. It has grooves within 
the barrel, and carries a ball with great exactness to 
great distances. They are the most accurate marks- 
men in the world. 

I begin to hope we shall not sit all summer. I hope 
the people of our province will treat the General with 
all that confidence and affection, that politeness and 
respect, which is due to one of the most important 
characters in the world. The liberties of America 
depend upon him, in a great degree. I have never 
been able to obtain from our province any regular and 
particular intelligence since I left it. 

I have found this Congress like the last. When 
we first came together, I found a strong jealousy of us 
from New England, and the Massachusetts in particu- 
lar ; suspicions entertained of designs of independency ; 
an American republic ; Presbyterian principles, and 
twenty other things. Our sentiments were heard in 
Congress with great caution, and seemed to make but 
little impression ; but the longer we sat, the more 
clearly they saw the necessity of pushing vigorous 
measures. It has been so now. Every day we sit, the 
more we ai-e convinced that the designs against us are 
hostile and sanguinary, and that nothing but fortitude, 
vigor, and perseverance can save us. 

But America is a great, vmwieldy body. Its prog- 
ress must be slow. It is like a large fleet sailing un- 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 31 

der convoy. The fleetest sailors must wait for the 
dullest and slowest. Like a coach and six, the swift- 
est horses must be slackened, and the slowest quick- 
enedi that all may keep an even pace. 

It is long since I heard from you. I fear joxx have 
been kept in continual alarms. My duty and love to 
all. My dear children, come here and kiss me. We 
have appointed a Continental fast. Millions will be 
upon their knees at once before their great Creator, 
imploring his forgiveness and blessing ; his smiles on 
American councils and arms. 

My duty to your uncle Quincy ; your papa, mamma, 
and mine ; my brothers and sisters, and yours. 

Adieu. J. A. 

16. Sunday, 18 June. 

The day — perhaps the decisive day — is come, on 
which the fate of America depends. My bursting 
heart must find vent at my pen. I have just heard 
that our dear friend. Dr. Warren, is no more, but fell 
gloriously fighting for his country ; saying : Better to 
die honorably in the field, than ignominiously hang 
upon the gallows. Great is our loss. He has distin- 
guished himself in every engagement, by his courage 
and fortitude, by animating the soldiers, and leading 
them on by his own example. A particular account 
of these dreadful, but I hope glorious days, will be 
transmitted you, no doubt, in the exactest manner. 

" The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to 
the strong ; but the God of Israel is He that giveth 
strength and power unto his people. Trust in him at 



32 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

all times, ye people ; pour out your hearts before him ; 
God is a refuge for us." Charlestown is laid in ashes. 
The battle began upon our intrenchments u]3on Bun- 
ker's Hill, Saturday morning about three o'clock, and 
has not ceased yet, and it is now three o'clock Sab- 
bath afternoon. 

It is expected they will come out over the Neck to- 
night, and a dreadful battle must ensue. Almighty 
God, cover the heads of our countrymen, and be a 
shield to our dear friends ! How many have fallen, we 
know not. The constant roar of the cannon is so dis- 
tressing that we cannot eat, drink, or sleep. May we 
be supported and sustained in the dreadful conflict. 
I shall tarr}' here till it is thought unsafe by my 
friends, and then I have secured myself a retreat at 
your brother's, who has kindly offered me part of his 
house. I cannot compose myself to write any further 
at present. I will add more as I hear further. 

Tuesday Afternoon, 
I have been so much agitated, that I have not been 
able to write since Sabbath day. When I say that ten 
thousand reports are passing, vague and uncertain as 
the wind, I believe I speak the truth. I am not able 
to give you any authentic account of last Saturday, 
but you will not be destitute of intelligence. Colonel 
Palmer has just sent me word that he has an oppor- 
tunity of conveyance. Incorrect as this scrawl will 
be, it shall go. I ardently pray that you may be sup- 
ported through the arduous task you have before you. 
I wish I could contradict the report of the Dr's death ; 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 33 

but it is a lamentable truth, and the tears of multi- 
tudes pay tribute to his memory ; those favorite lines 
of Collins continually sound in my ears : — 

" How sleep the brave," etc. 

I must close, as the Deacon waits. I have not pre- 
tended to be particular with regard to what I have 
heard, because I know you will collect better intelli- 
gence. The spirits of the people are very good ; the 
loss of Charlestown affects them no more than a drop 
in the bucket. I am, most sincerely, yours, 

POKTIA. 

17. 22 Ji(«e, 1775. 

I received yours of June 10th, for which I thank 
you. I want you to be more particular. Does every 
member feel for us ? Can they realize what we suf- 
fer ? And can they believe with what patience <ind 
fortitude we endure the conflict? Nor do we even 
tremble at the frowns of power. 

You inquire of me who were at the engagement at 
Grape Island. I may say, with truth, all of Wey- 
mouth, Braintree, Hingham, who were able to bear 
arms, and hundreds from other towns within twenty, 
thirty, and forty miles of Weymouth. Our good 
friend the Dr.^ is in a miserable state of health, and 
hardly able to go from his own house to my father's. 
Danger, you know, sometimes makes timid men bold. 
He stood that day very well, and generously attended, 
with drink, biscuit, flints, etc., five hundred men witli- 

1 Dr. Tufts, 
3 



34 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

out taking any pay. He has since been chosen one of 
the committee of correspondence for that town, and 
has done much service by establishing a regular 
method of alarm from town to town. Both your 
brothers were there ; your younger brother, with his 
company, who gained honor by their good order that 
day. He was one of the first to venture on board a 
schooner to land upon the island. As to Chelsea, I 
cannot be so particular, as I know only in general that 
Colonel Putnam commanded there, and had many gen- 
tlemen volunteers. We have two companies stationed 
in this town : at Germantown, Captain Turner ; at 
Squantum, Captain Vinton ; in Weymouth, one ; in 
Hingham, two, etc. I believe I shall remove your 
books this week to your brother's. We think it advis- 
able. Colonel Quincy has procured his family a re- 
treat at Deacon Holbrookes. Mr. Cranch has one at 
Major Bass's, in case of necessity, to which we hope 
not to be driven. We hear that the troops destined, 
for New York are all expected here ; but we have got 
to that pass that a whole legion of them would not 
intimidate us. I think I am very brave, upon the 
whole. If danger conies near my dAvelling, I suppose 
I shall shudder. We want powder, but, with the 
blessing of Heaven, we fear them not. Write every 
opportunity you can. I am, yours, PoRTlA. 

18. Philadelphia, 23 June. 

I have this morning been out of town to accompany 
our generals, Washington, Lee, and Schuyler, a little 
way on their journey to the American camp before 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 35 

Boston. The three generals were all mounted on 
horseback, accompanied by Major Mifflin, who is gone 
in the character of aid-de-camp. All the delegates 
from the Massachusetts, with their servants and car- 
riages, attended ; many others of the delegates from 
the Congress ; a large troop of light horse in their 
uniforms ; many officers of militia besides, in theirs ; 
music playing, etc., etc. Such is the pride and pomp 
of war. I, poor creature, worn out with scribbling for 
my bread and my liberty, low in spirits and weak in 
health, must leave others to wear the laurels which I 
have soAvn ; others to eat the bread which I have 
earned ; a common case. 

We had, yesterday, by the way of New York and 
New London, a report which distresses us almost as 
much as that we had last fall of the cannonade of Bos- 
ton. A battle at Bunker's Hill and Dorchester Point. 
Three colonels wounded, Gardner mortally. We wait 
to hear more particulars. Our hopes and fears are 
alternately very strong. If there is any truth in this 
account, you must be in great confusion. God Al- 
mighty's providence preserve, sustain, and comfort 
you. 

27 June. . 

This moment received two letters from you. Cour- 
age, my dear We shall be supported in life or com- 
forted in death. I rejoice that my countrymen be- 
haved so bravely, though not so skilfully conducted as 
I could wish. I hope this defect will be remedied by 
the new modelling of the army. 

My love everywhere. J. A. 



86 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

19. Braintree, 25 June, 1775. 

My father has been more afflicted by the destruction 
of Charlestown than by anything which has heretofore 
taken place. Why should not his countenance be sad, 
when the city, the place of his father's sepulchre, lieth 
waste, and the gates thereof are consumed with fire ? 
Scarcely one stone remaineth upon another ; but in 
the midst of sorrow we have abundant cause of thank- 
fulness, that so few of our brethren are numbered 
with the slain, whilst our enemies were cut down like 
the grass before the scythe. But one officer of all the 
Welsh Fusileers remains to tell his story. Many poor 
wretches die for want of proper assistance aiid care of 
their wounds. 

Every account agrees in fourteen or fifteen hundred 
slain and wounded upon their side, nor can I learn 
that they dissemble the number themselves. We had 
some heroes that daj^, who fought with amazing in- 
trepidity and courage. 

" Extremity is the trier of spirits ; 
— conimou chances common men can bear." 
And, " When the sea is calm, all boats alike 
Show mastership in floating : fortune's blows 
When most struck home, being bravelj warded, crave 
A noble cunning." 

I hear that General Howe said that the battle upon 
the Plains of Abrani was but a bauble to this. When 
we consider all the circvimstances attending this ac- 
tion, we stand astonished that our people were not all 
cut off. They had but one hundred feet intrenched, 
the number who were engaged did not exceed eight 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 37 

hundred, and they with not half ammunition enough ; 
the reinforcement not able to get to them seasonably. 
The tide was up, and high, so that their floating bat- 
teries came upon each side of the causeway, and their 
row-galleys kept a continual fire. Added to this, the 
fire from Copp's Hill, and from the ships ; the town in 
flames all around them, and the heat from the flames 
so intense as scarcely to be borne ; the day one of the 
hottest we have had this season, and the wind blowing 
the smoke in their faces, — only figure to yourself all 
these circumstances, and then consider that we do not 
count sixty men lost. INIy heart overflows at the recol- 
lection. 

We live in continual expectation of hostilities. 
Scarcely a day that does not produce some ; but, like 
good Nehemiah, having made our prayer unto God, 
and set the people with their swords, their spears, and 
their bows, we will say unto them, "Be not ye afraid 
of them ; remember the Lord, who is great and terri- 
ble, and fight for your brethren, your sons and your 
daughters, your wives and your houses." 

I have just received yours of the 17th of June, in 
seven days only ; every line from that far country is 
precious ; you do not tell me how you do, but I will 
hope better. Alas, you little thought what distress 
we were in the day you wrote. They delight in mo- 
lesting us upon the Sabbath. Two Sabbaths we have 
been in such alarm that we have had no meeting ; 
this day we have sat under our own vine in quietness ; 
have heard Mr. Taft, from Psalms, " The Lord is 
good to all, and his tender mercies are over all his 



38 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

works." The good man was earnest and pathetic ; I 
could forgive his weakness for the sake of his sin- 
cerity, but I long for a Cooper and an Eliot. I want 
a person who has feeling and sensibility, who can take 
one up with him, — 

And " in his duty prompt, at every call," 

Can " watch, and weep, and pray, and feci for all." 

Mr. Rice joins General Heath's regiment to-mor- 
row, as adjutant. Your brother is very desirous of 
being in the army, but your good mother is really vio- 
lent against it. I cannot persuade nor reason her into 
a consent. Neither he nor I dare let her know that 
he is trying for a place. My brother has a captain's 
commission, and is stationed at Cambridge. I thought 
yon had the best of intelligence, or I should have 
taken pains to be more particular. As to Boston, 
there are many persons yet there who would be glad 
to get out if they could. Mr. Boylston, and Mr, Gill, 
the printei-, with his family, are held upon the black 
list, it is said. 'T is certain they watch them so nar- 
rowly that they cannot escape. JNIr. Mather got out a 
day or two before Charlestown was destroyed, and had 
lodged his papers and what else he got out at Mr. 
Carey's, but they were all consumed ; so were many 
other people's, who thought they might trust their lit- 
tle there till teams could be procured to remove them. 
The people from the almshouse and workhouse were 
sent to the lines, last week, to make room for their 
wounded, they say. Meclford people are all removed. 
Every seaport seems in motion. O North,^ may the 
1 Lord Nortli, prime minister of Great Britain. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 39 

groans and cries of the injured and oppressed harrow 
up thy soul. We have a prodigious army, but we lack 
many accommodations which we need. I hope the 
appointment of these new generals will give satisfac- 
tion ; they must be proof against calumny. In a con- 
test like this, continual reports are circulated by our 
enemies, and they catch witli the unwary and the gap- 
ing crowd, who are ready to listen to the marvellous 
without considering of consequences, even though their 
best friends are injured. 

I have not ventured to inquire one word of you 
about your return. I do not know whether I ought 
to wish for it ; it seems as if your sitting together 
was absolutely necessary, whilst every day is big with 
events. 

Mr. Bowdoin called Friday and took his leave of 
me, desiring I would present his affectionate regards 
to you. I have hopes that he will recover ; he has 
mended a good deal. He wished lie could have stayed 
in Braintree, but his lady was fearful. 

Yours evermore, PoETiA. 

20. 5 Julij, 1775. 

I have received a good deal of paper from you. I 
wish it had been more covered ; the writing is very 
scant, yet I must not grumble. I know your time is 
not yours nor mine. Your labors must be great and 
your mouth closed ; but all you may communicate, 
I beg you would. There is a pleasure, I Jsnow not 
whence it arises, nor can I stop now to find it out, but 
I say there is a degree of pleasure in being able to 



40 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

tell news, especially ciny that so nearly concerns us as 
all your proceedings do. 

I should have been more particulai", but I thought 
you knew everything that passed here. The present 
state of the inhabitants of Boston is that of the most 
abject slaves, under the most cruel and despotic of 
tyrants. Among many instances I could mention, let 
me relate one. Upon the 17th of June, printed hand- 
bills were posted up at the corners of the streets, and 
upon houses, forbidding any inhabitants to go upon 
their houses, or upon any eminence, on pain of death ; 
the inhabitants dared not to look out of their houses, 
nor to be heard or seen to ask a question. Our pris- 
oners were brought over to the Long Wharf, and there 
lay all night, without any care of their wounds, or 
any resting-place but the pavements, until the next 
day, when they exchanged it for the jail, since Avhich 
we hear they are civilly treated. Their living cannot 
be good, as they can have no fresh provisions ; their 
beef, we hear, is all gone, and their wounded men die 
very fast, so that they have a report that the bullets 
were poisoned. Fish they cannot have, they have 
rendered it so difficult to procui'e ; and the admiral is 
such a villain as to oblige every fishing schooner to 
pay a dollar every time it goes out. The money that 
has been paid for passes is incredible. Some have 
given ten, twenty, thirty, and forty dollars, to get out 
with a small proportion of their things. It is reported 
and believed that they have taken up a number of 
persons and committed them to jail, we know not for 
what in particular. Master Lovell ^ is confined in the 
1 James, master of a Boston graniniar school. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 41 

dungeon ; a son of Mr. Ecles is in jail, and one Wi- 
burt, a ship-carpenter, is now upon trial for his life. 
God alone knows to what length these wretches will 
go, and will, I hope, restrain their malice. 

I would not have you be distressed about me. 
Danger, they say, makes people valiant. Hitherto I 
have been distressed, but not dismaj^ed. I have felt 
for my country and her sons. I have bled with them 
and for them. Not all the havoc and devastation they 
have made has wounded me like the death of Warren. 
We want him in the Senate ; we want him in his pro- 
fession ; we want him in the field. We mourn for 
the citizen, the senator, the physician, and the war- 
rior. May we have others raised up in his room. 

I have had a very kind and friendly visit from our 
dear friends Colonel Warren, lady, and son. INIrs. 
Warren spent almost a week with me, and he came 
and met her here, and kept Sabbath with me. I sup- 
pose she will write to you, though she says you are in 
her debt. 

You scarcely make mention of Dr. Franklin. 
Surely he must be a valuable member. I wish I 
could come and see you. I never suffer myself to 
think you are about returning soon. Can it, will it 
be ? May I ask, may I wish for it ? When once I 
expect you, the time will crawl till I see you. But 
hush ! Do you know it is eleven o'clock at night ? 
We have had some very fine rains since I wrote you 
last. I hope we shall . not now have famine added to 
war. Grain, grain is what we want here. Meat we 
have enough and to spare. Pray don't let Bass forget 



42 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

my pins. Hard wick has applied to me for Mr. Bass 
to get him a hundred of needles, number six, to carry 
on his stocking weaving. We shall very soon have 
no coffee, nor sugar, nor pepper, here ; but whortle- 
berries and milk we are not obliged to commerce for. 
I saw a letter of yours to Colonel Palmer, by General 
Washington. I hope I have one too. Good night. 
With thoughts of thee do I close my eyes. Angels 
guard and protect thee ; and may a safe return ere- 
long bless thy PORTIA. 

21. Philadelphia, 7 Jm/^, 1775. 

I have received yonv very agreeable favors of June 
22 and 25. They contain more particulars than any 
letters I had before received from anybody. 

It is not at all surprising to me that the wanton, 
cruel, and infamous conflagTation of Charlestown, the 
place of your father's nativity, should afflict him. Let 
him know that I sincerely condole with him on that 
melancholy event. It is a method of conducting war 
long since become disreputable among civilized na- 
tions. But every year brings us fresh evidence that 
"we have nothing to hope for from our loving mother 
country, but cruelties more abominable than those 
■which are practised by the savage Indians. 

The account you give me of the numbers slain on 
the side of our enemies is afflicting to humanity, al- 
though it is a glorious proof of the bravery of our 
worthy countrymen. Considering all the disadvan- 
tages under which they fought, they really exhibited 
prodigies of valor. Your description of the distresses 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 43 

of the worthy inhabitants of Boston and tlie other 
seaport towns is enough to melt a heart of stone. 
Our consolation must be this, my dear, that cities 
may be rebuilt, and a people reduced to poverty may 
acquire fresh property. But a constitution of gov- 
ernment, once changed from freedom, can never be 
restored. Liberty, once lost, is lost forever. When 
the people once surrender their share in the legisla- 
ture, and their right of defending the limitations upon 
the government, and of ]-esisting every encroachment 
upon them, they can never regain it. 

The loss of Mr. Mather's library, which was a col- 
lection of books and manuscripts made by himself, his 
father, his grandfather, and great-grandfather, and 
was reall}^ very curious and valuable, is irreparable. 
The family picture you draw is charming indeed. 
My dear Abby, Johnny, Charley, and Tommy, I long 
to see you, and to share with your mamma the pleets- 
ures of your conversation. I feel myself much obliged 
to Mr. Bowdoin, Mr. Wibiid, and the two families 
you mention, for their civilities to you. My compli- 
ments to them. Does Mr. Wibird preach against op- 
pression and the other cardinal vices of the times ? 
Tell him the clergy here of every denomination thun- 
der and lighten every Sabbath. They pray for Bos- 
ton and the Massachusetts. They thank God most 
explicitly and fervently for our remarkable successes. 
They pray for the American army. They seem to 
feel as if they were among you. 

You ask if every member feels for us ? Every 
member says he does, and most of them really do. 



44 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

But most of tliem feel more for themselves. In every 
society of men, in every club I ever yet saw, you find 
some who are timid, their fears hurry them away 
upon every alarm ; some who are selfish and avari- 
cious, on whose callous hearts nothing but interest 
and money can make impression. There are some 
persons in New York and Philadelphia to whom a 
ship is dearer than a city, and a few barrels of flour 
than a thousand lives — other men's lives, I mean. 

You ask, "Can they realize what we suffer?" I 
answer, No. They can't. They don't. And, to ex- 
cuse them as well as I can, I must confess I should 
not be able to do it myself if I was not more ac- 
quainted with it by experience than they are. 

I am grieved for Dr. Tufts's ill-health, but rejoiced 
exceedingly at his virtuous exertions in the cause of 
his country. I am happy to hear that my brothers 
were at Grape Island, and behaved well. My love to 
them, and duty to my mother. 

It gives me more pleasure than I can express, to 
learn that you sustain with so much fortitude the 
shocks and terrors of the times. You are really brave, 
my dear. You are a heroine, and you have reason to 
be. For the worst that can happen can do you no 
harm. A soul as pure, as benevolent, as virtuous and 
pious as yours, has nothing to fear, but everything to 
hope and expect, from the last of human evils. I am 
glad you have secured an asylum, though I hope you 
will not have occasion for it. 

There is an amiable, ingenious hussy, named Betsey 
Smith,^ for whom I have a very great regard. Be 
1 Mrs. Adams's sister. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 45 

pleased to make my love acceptable to her, and let 
her know that her elegant pen cannot be more use- 
fully employed than in writmg letters to her brother 
at Philadelphia, though it may be more agreeably, in 
writing billets-doux to young gentlemen. 

The other day, after I had received a letter of 
yours, with one or two others, Mr. William Barrell 
desired to read them. I put them into his hand, and 
the next morning had them returned in a large bun- 
dle packed up with two great heaps of pins, with a 
very polite card requesting Portia's acceptance of 
them. I shall bring them with me when I return. 
But when that will be is uncertain. I hope not more 
than a month hence. 

I have really had a very disagreeable time of it. 
My health, and especially my eyes, have been so very 
bad that I have not been so fit for business as I 
ought ; and if I had been in perfect health, I should 
have had, in the present condition of my country and 
my friends, no taste for pleasure. But Dr. Young has 
made a kind of cure of my health, and Dr. Church of 
my eyes. 

I have received two kind letters from your uncle 
Smith. Do thank him for tliem. I shall forever 
love him for them. I love everybody that writes to 
me. I am forever yours, j. A. 

22. Brainteee, 16 July, 1775. 

I have seen your letters to Colonels Palmer and' 
Warren. I pity your embarrassments. How difficult 
the task to quench the fire and the pride of private 



46 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

ambition, and to sacrifice- ourselves and all our hopes 
and expectations to the public weal ! How few have 
souls capable of so noble an undertaking! How often 
are the laurels worn by those who have had no share 
in eai'ning them ! But there is a future recompense 
of reward to which the npright man looks, and which 
he will most assuredly obtain, provided he perseveres 
unto the end. 

The appointment of the generals Washington and 
Lee gives universal satisfaction. The people have the 
highest opinion of Lee's abilities, but you know the 
continuation of the popular breath depends much upon 
favorable events. I had the pleasure of seeing both 
the generals and their aides-de-camp soon after their 
arrival, and of being personally made known to them. 
They very politely express their regard for you. Ma- 
jor Mifflin said he had orders from you to visit me at 
Braintree. I told him I should be very happy to 
see him there, and accordingly sent Mr. Thaxter t-o 
Cambridge with a card, to him and Mr. Reed, to dine 
with me. Mrs. Warren and her son were to be with 
me. They very politely received the message, and 
lamented that they were not able to come, upon ac- 
count of expresses which they were on that day to get 
in readiness to send off. 

I was struck with General Washington. You had 
prepared me to entertain a favorable opinion of him, 
but I thought the half was not told me. Dignity with 
ease and complacency, the gentleman and soldier, look 
agreeably blended in him. Modesty mai'ks every 
line and feature of his face. Those lines of Dryden 
instantly occurred to me : — 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 47 

" Mark his majestic fabric ; he 's a temple 
Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine ; 
His soul 's the deity that lodges there ; 
Nor is the pile unworthy of the god." 

General Lee looks like a careless, hardy veteran, 
and by his appearance brought to my mind his name- 
sake^ Charles the Twelfth, of Sweden. The elegance 
of his pen far exceeds that of his person. 

You have made frequent complaints that your 
friends do not write to you. 1 have stirred up some 
of them. May not I in my turn make complaints ? 
All the letters I receive from you seem to be written 
in so much haste that they scarcely leave room for a 
social feeling. They let me know that you exist, 
but some of them contain scarcely six lines. I want 
some sentimental effusions of the heart. I am sure 
you are not destitute of them. Or are they all ab- 
sorbed in the great public ? Much is due to that,, I 
know, but, being part of the public, I lay claim to a 
larger share than I have had. You used to be more 
communicative on Sundays. I always loved a Sab- 
bath day's letter, for then you had a greater command 
of your time; but hush to all complaints. 

I am much surprised that you have not been more 
accurately informed of what passes in the camps. As 
to intelligence from Boston, it is but very seldom we 
are able to collect anything that may be relied on ; 
and to report the vague flying rumors would be end- 
less. I heard j^esterday, by one Mr. Roulstone, a 
goldsmith, who got out in a fishing schooner, that 
their distress increased upon them fast. Their beef 



48 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

is all spent ; their malt and cider all gone. All the 
fresh provisions they can procure they are obliged to 
give to the sick and wounded. Thirteen of our men 
who were in jail, and were wounded at the battle of 
Charlestown, were dead. No man dared now to be 
seen talking to his friend in the street. They were 
obliged to be within, every evening, at ten o'clock, 
according to martial law ; nor could any inhabitant 
walk any street in town after that time, without a 
pass from Gage. He has ordered all the molasses to 
be distilled into rum for the soldiers ; taken away all 
licenses, and given out others, obliging to a forfeiture 
of ten pounds, if any rum is sold without written or- 
ders from tlie general. He gives much the same ac- 
count of the killed and wounded we have from others. 
The spirit, he saj^s, which prevails among the soldiers, 
is a spirit of malice and revenge ; there is no true 
courage and bravery to be observed among them. 
Their duty is hard ; always mounting guard with 
their packs at their backs, ready for an alarm, which 
they live in continual hazard of. Dr. Eliot ^ is not on 
board a man-of-war, as has been reported, but perhaps 
was left in town, as the comfort and support of those 
Avho cannot escape. He was constantly with our pi'is- 
oners. Messrs. Lovell and Leach, with others, are 
certainly in jail. A poor milch cow was last week 
killed in town, and sold for a shilling sterling per 
pound. The transports arrived last week from York, 
but every additional man adds to their distress. There 
has been a little expedition this week to Long Island. 
1 Kev. Dr. Andrew Eliot. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 49 

There have been, before, several attempts to go on, 
but three men-of-war lay near, and cutters all round 
the island, so that they could not succeed. A number 
of whaleboats lay at Gerraantown. Three hundred 
volunteers, commanded by one Captain Tupper, came 
on Monday evening and took the boats, went on, and 
brought off seventy odd sheep, fifteen head of cattle, 
and sixteen prisoners, thirteen of whom were sent to 
mow the hay, which they had very badly executed. 
Tiiey were all asleep in the house and barn. When 
they were taken, there were three women with them. 
Our heroes came of^ in triumph, not being olDserved 
by their enemies. This spirited up others, who could 
not endure the thought that the house and barn should 
afford them any shelter ; they did not destroy them 
the night before for fear of being discovered. Cap- 
tain Wild, of this town, with about twenty-five of his 
company. Captain Gold, of Weymouth, with as many 
of his, and some other volunteers, to the amount of a 
hundred, obtained leave to go on and destroy the hay, 
together with the house and barn ; and in open day, 
in full view of the men-of-war, they set off from the 
Moon,^ so called, covered by a number of men who 
were placed there, went on and set fire to the build- 
ings and hay. A number of armed cutters imme- 
diately surrounded the island and fired upon our men. 
They came off with a hot and continued fire upon 
them, the bullets flying in every direction, and the 
men-of-war's boats plying them with small arms. 
Many in this town, who were spectators, expected 

^ Moon Island, or Moon Head. 
4 



50 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

every moment our men would all be sacrificed, for 
sometimes they were so near as to be called and 
damned by their enemies, and ordered to surrender ; 
yet they all returned in safety, not one man even 
wounded. Upon the Moon we lost one man, from the 
cannon on board the man-of-war. On the evening 
of the same day, a man-of-war came and anchored 
near Great Hill, and two cutters came to Pig Rocks. 
It occasioned an alarm in this town, and we were up 
all night. They remain there yet, but have not ven- 
tured to land any men. 

This town have chosen their representative. Col- 
onel Palmer is the man. There was a considerable 
muster upon Thayer's side, and Vinton's company 
marched up in order to assist, but got sadly disap- 
pointed. Newcomb insisted upon it that no man 
should vote who was in the army. He had no notion 
of being under the military power ; said we might be 
so situated as to have the greater part of the people 
engaged in the military, and then all power would be 
wrested out of the hands of the civil magistrate. He 
insisted upon its being put to vote, and carried his 
point immediately. It brought Thayer to his speech, 
who said all he could against it. 

As to the situation of the camps, our men are in 
general healthy, much more so at Roxbury than at 
Cambridge, and the camp is in vastly better order. 
General Thomas has the character of an excellent of- 
ficer. His merit has certainly been overlooked, as 
modest merit generally is. I hear General Washing- 
ton is much pleased with his conduct. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 51 

Every article here in the West India way is very 
scarce and dear. In six weeks we shall not be able 
to purchase any article of the kind. I wish you would 
let Bass get me one pound of pepper and two yards 
of black calamanco for shoes. I cannot wear leather, 
if I go barefoot. Bass may make a fine profit if he 
lays in a stock for himself. You can hardly imagine 
how much we want many common small articles, 
which are not manufactured amongst ourselves; but 
we will have them in time ; not one pin to be pur- 
chased for love or money. I wish you would convey 
me a thousand by any friend travelling tliis way. It 
is very provoking to have such a plenty so near us, 
but, Tantalus-like, not to be able to touch. I should 
have been glad to have laid in a small stock of the 
West India articles, but I cannot get one copper ; no 
person thinks of paying anything, and I do not choose 
to run in debt. I endeavor to live in the most frugal 
manner possible, but I am many times distressed. 

We have, since I wrote yon, had many fine show- 
ers, and, although the crops of grass have been cut 
short, we have a fine prospect of Indian corn and Eng- 
lish grain. Be not afraid, ye beasts of the field, for 
the pastures of the wilderness do spring, the tree bear- 
eth her fruit, the vine and the olive yield their in- 
crease. We have not yet been much distressed for 
grain. Everything at present looks blooming. Oh, 
that Peace would once more extend her olive branch ! 

" This day be bi'ead and peace my lot ; 
All else beneath the sun, 
Thou knowest if best bestowed or not, 
And let thy will be done." 



52 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

" But is the Almighty ever bound to please, 
Build by my wish, or studious of my ease ? 
Shall I determine where his frowns shall fall. 
And fence my grotto from the lot of all f 
Prostrate, his sovereign wisdom I adore, 
Entreat his mercy, but I dare no more." 

I have now written you all I can collect from every 
quarter. 'Tis fit for no eyes but yours, because you 
can make all necessary allowances. I cannot copy. 

There are yet in town three of the selectmen and 
some thousands of inhabitants, 't is said. I hope to 
hear from you soon. Do let me know if there is any 
prospect of seeing you. Next Wednesday is thirteen 
weeks since you went away. I must bid you adieu. 

You have many friends, though they have not no- 
ticed you by writing. I am sorry they have been so 
negligent. I hope no share of that blame lies upon 
Your most affectionate PoETlA. 

23. Philadelphia, 23 July, 1775. 

You have more than once in your letters mentioned 
Dr. Franklin, and in one intimated a desire that I 
should write you something concerning him. 

Dr. Franklin has been very constant in his attend- 
ance on Congress from the beginning. His conduct 
has been composed and grave, and, in the opinion of 
many gentlemen, very reserved. He has not as- 
sumed anything, nor affected to take the lead ; but 
has seemed to choose that the Congress should pur- 
sue their own principles and sentiments, and adopt 
their own plans. Yet he has not been backward ; has 
been very useful on many occasions, and discovered a 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 53 

disposition entirely American. He does not hesitate 
at our boldest measures, but rather seems to think us 
too irresolute and backward. He thinks us at present 
in an odd state, neither in peace nor war, neither de- 
pendent nor independent ; but he thinks that we shall 
soon assume a character more decisive. He thinks 
that we have the power of preserving ourselves ; and 
that even if we should be driven to the disagreeable 
necessity of assuming a total independency, and set 
up a separate state, we can maintain it. The people 
of England have thought that the opposition in Amer- 
ica was wholly owing to Dr. Franklin ; and I suppose 
their scribblers will attribute the temper and pro- 
ceedings of Congress to him ; but there cannot be a 
greater mistake. He has had but little share, further 
than to cooperate and to assist. He is, however, a great 
and good man. I wish his colleagues from this city 
were all like him ; particularly one, whose abilities 
and virtues, formerly trumpeted so much in America, 
have been found wanting. There is a young gentle- 
man from Pennsylvania, whose name is Wilson, whose 
fortitude, rectitude, and abilities too, greatly outshine 
his master's. Mr. Biddle, the Speaker, has been taken 
off by sickness, Mr. Mifflin is gone to the camp, Mr. 
Morton is ill too, so that this province has suffered by 
the timidity of two overgrown fortunes. The dread 
of confiscation or caprice, I know not what, has influ- 
enced them too much ; yet they were for taking arms, 
and pretended to be very valiant. 

This letter must be secret, my dear ; at least com- 
municated with great discretion. Yours, 

J. A. 



54 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

24. Braintree, 25 Julii, 1775. 

Deaeest Friend, — I received yours of July 7th, 
for which I heartily thank you. It was the longest 
and best letter I have had ; the most leisurely, and 
therefore the most sentimental. Previous to your 
last, I had written you, and made some complaints 
of you, but I will take them all back again. Only 
continue your obliging favors, whenever your time 
will allow you to devote one moment to your absent 
Portia. 

This is the 25th of July. Gage has not made any 
attempts to march out since the battle at Cliarles- 
town. Our army is restless, and wish to be doing 
something to rid themselves and the land of the ver- 
min and locusts which infest it. Since I wrote you 
last, the companies stationed upon the coast, both in 
this town, Weymouth, and Hingham, were ordered to 
Nantasket, to reap and bring off the grain, which they 
accomplished, all except a field or two which was not 
ripe ; and having whaleboats, they undertook to go to 
the Light-house and set fire to it, which they effected 
in open day, and in fair sight of several men-of-war. 
Upon their return came down upon them eight barges, 
one cutter, and one schooner, all in battle-array, and 
poured whole broadsides upon them ; but our men 
all reached the shore, and not one life lost, two only 
slightly wounded in their legs. They marched up a 
hill, and drew into order in hopes the marines would 
land ; but they chose rather to return without a land 
engagement, though 't is thought they will burn the 
town down as soon as our forces leave it. I had this 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 55 

account from Captain Vinton, who with his company 
were there. These little skirmishes seem trifling, but 
they serve to inure our men, and harden them to dan- 
ger. I hear the rebels are very wroth at the destruc- 
tion of the Light-house. 

I believe you will not complain that I do not write 
often enough, and at length enough. When you are 
tired tell me. Pray make my compliments to Mr. 
Barrell for his great civility to Portia. I really feel 
very anxious at being exposed to any eyes but yours, 
whose partiality I have so often experienced to cover 
a multitude of faults, that I rely upon it with the ut- 
most security. You will not fail letting me hear from 
you by every opportunity. 

I need not say how much I want to see you, but 
no one will credit my story of your returning in a 
month. I hope to have the best of proofs to convince 
them. 

It cannot need an}^ to convince you how sincerely 
I am your affectionate Portia. 

25. Braintree, 8 September. 

Since you left me I have passed through great dis- 
tress both of body and mind, and whether greater is 
to be my portion, Heaven only knows. 

So sickly and so mortal a time the oldest man does 
not remember. I am anxious for you. Pray let me 
hear from you soon. I thought you would have left 
me a letter at Watertown, as you stayed so long there. 
I was disappointed that you did not. As to politics, I 
know nothing about them. The distresses of my own 



56 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

family are so great that I have not thought of them. 
I have written as much as I am able to, being very 
weak. I hope to add a more pleasing account ere I 
close. 

Sunday, 10 September. 

'Tis now two days since I wrote. As to my own 
health, I mend but very slowly ; have been fearful of 
a return of my disorder to-day, but feel rather better 
now ; hope it is only owing to my having been fa- 
tigued with looking after Tommy, as he is unwilling 
any one but mamma should do for him ; and, if he 
was, I could not find anybody that is worth having 
but what is taken up already for the sick. Tommj^, I 
hope, is mending. His fever has abated ; but were 
you to look in upon him, you would not know hira. 
From a hearty, hale, corn-fed boy, he has become 
pale, lean, and wan. 

Pray let me hear from you often. Heaven preserve 
both your life and health, and all my suffering will 
be but small. By the first safe conveyance be kind 
enough to send me one ounce of Turkey rhubarb, the 
root, and to procure me one quarter of a pound of 
nutmegs, for which here I have to give 2s. 8d. lawful ; 
one ounce of cloves, two of cinnamon. I should be 
glad of one ounce of Indian root. So much sickness 
has occasioned a scarcity of medicine. 

Destroy this. Such a doleful tale it contains can 
give no pleasure to any one. Our other children are 
well, and send duty to papa. Hitherto our family 
has been greatly favored. Heaven still preserve us. 
'T is a melancholy time with us. I hope you will not 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 57 

think me in the dismals ; but public and private judg- 
ments ought to be noticed by every one. 

I am, most affectionately, yours, Portia. 

26. Braintree, Sunday, 16 September, 1775. 

I set myself down to write with a heart depressed 
with the melancholy scenes around me. We have 
been four Sundays without any meeting. Thus does 
pestilence travel in the rear of war, to remind us of 
our entire dependence upon that Being who not only 
directeth the arrow by day, but has also at his com- 
mand that which flieth in darkness. So uncertain and 
so transitory are all the enjoyments of life, that were 
it not for the tender connections which bind us, would 
it not be folly to wish for continuance here ? I think 
I shall never be wedded to the world, and were I 
to lose about a dozen of my dearest connections, I 
should have no further relish for life. 

But perhaps I deceive myself and know little, but 
little of my own heart. 

" To bear and suffer is our portion here." 

And unto Him who mounts the whirlwind and directs 
the storm I will cheerfull}^ leave the ordering of my 
lot, and whether adverse or prosperous days should be 
my future portion, I will trust in his right hand to 
lead me safely through, and, after a short rotation of 
events, fix me in a state immutable and happy. 

God helps them that help themselves, as King Rich- 
ard ^ says ; and if we can obtain the Divine aid by 
1 Franklin's Poor Eichard. 



58 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

oar own virtue, fortitude, and perseverance, we may 
be sure of relief. 

To-morrow will be three weeks since you left home ; 
in all which time I have not heard one word from 
you. Patience is a lesson I have not to learn, so I 
can wait your own time, but hope it will not be long 
ere my anxious heart is relieved. 

Adieu ! I need not say how sincerely I am 

Your affectionate POETIA. 

27. Philadelphia, 1 October, 1775. 

This morning I received your two letters, of 8 Sep- 
tember and 16 September. What shall I say ? The 
intelligence they contain came upon me b}'^ surprise, as 
I never had the least intimation before that any of 
my family was ill, excepting in a card from Mrs. 
Warren, received a few days ago, in which she in- 
formed me that " Mrs. Adams had been unwell, but 
was better." 

You may easily conceive the state of mind in which 
I am at present. Uncertain and apprehensive at first, 
I suddenly thought of setting off immediately for 
Braintree, and I have not yet determined otherwise. 
Yet the state of public affairs is so critical that I am 
half afraid to leave my station, although my presence 
here is of no great consequence. 

I feel, I tremble for you. Poor Tommy ! I hope, 
by this time, however, he has recovered his plump 
cheeks and his fine bloom. I rejoice to learn that 
Abby and her brothers have hitherto escaped, and 
pray God that his goodness may be still continued 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 59 

.to them. Your description of the distressed state of 
the neighborhood is affecting indeed. It is not un- 
common for a train of cahimities to come together. 
Fire, sword, pestilence, famine, often keep company 
and visit a country in a flock. 

At this distance I can do no good to you or yours. 
I pray God to support you. I hope our friends and 
neighbors are kind as usuaL I feel for them in the 
general calamity. I am so far from thinking you mel- 
ancholy, tiiat I am charmed with that admirable forti- 
tude and that divine spirit of resignation which appear 
in your letters. I cannot express the satisfaction it 
gives me, nor how much it contributes to support me. 

J. A. 

28. Weymouth, 1 October, 1775. 

Have pity upon me. Have pity upon me, O thou 
my beloved, for the hand of God presseth me sore. 

Yet will I be dumb and silent, and not open my 
mouth, because Thou, O Lord, hast done it. 

How can I tell you- (Oh my bursting heart!) that 
my dear mother has left me? This day, about five 
o'clock, she left this world for an infinitely better. 

After sustaining sixteen days' severe conflict, nature 
fainted, and she fell asleep. Blessed spirit ! where 
art thou? At times I am almost ready to faint un- 
der this severe and heavy stroke, separated from thee^ 
who used to be a comforter to me in affliction ; but, 
blessed be God, his ear is not heavy that He cannot 
hear, but He has bid us call upon Him in time of 
trouble. 



60 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

I know you are a sincere and heart}^ mourner with 
me, and will pray for me in my affliction. My poor 
father, like a firm believer and a good Christian, sets 
before bis cbildren the best of examples of patience 
and submission. My sisters send their love to you, 
and are greatly afflicted. You often expressed your 
anxiety for me when you left me before, surrounded 
with terrors ; but my trouble then was as the small 
dust in the balance compared to what I have since en- 
dured. I liope to be properly mindful of the correct- 
ing hand, that I may not be rebuked in anger. 

You will pardon and forgive all my wanderings of 
mind ; I cannot be correct. 

'Tis a dreadful time with the whole province. Sick- 
ness and death are in almost every family. I have no 
more shocking and terrible idea of any distemper, ex- 
cept the plague, than this. 

Almighty God ! restrain the pestilence which walk- 
eth in darkness and wasteth at noonday, and which 
has laid in the dust one of the dearest of parents. 
May the life of the other be lengthened out to his 
afflicted children. 

From your distressed PoRTlA. 

29. 13 October, 1775. 

I this day received yours of the 1st of October. 
Amidst all your afflictions, I am rejoiced to find that 
you all along preserve so proper and so happy a tem- 
per ; that you are sensible " the consolations of relig- 
ion are the only sure comforters." It is the constitu- 
tion under which we are born, that if we live long 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 61 

ourselves, we must bury our parents and all our elder 
relations, and many of those who are younger. I have 
lost a parent, a child, and a brother, and each of them 
left a lasting impression on my mind But you and 
I have many more relations and very good friends to 
follow to the house appointed for all flesh, or else we 
must be followed by them. I bewail, more than I can 
express, the loss of your excellent mother. I mourn 
the loss of so much purity, and unaffected piet}^ and 
virtue, to the world. I know of no better character 
left in it. I grieve for you, and your brother and 
sisters. I grieve for your father, whose age will need 
the succor of so excellent a comj^anion. But I grieve 
for nobody more than my children. 

You and I, my dear, have reason, if ever mortals had, 
to be thoughtful ; to look forward beyond the transi- 
tory scene. Whatever is preparing for us, let us be 
prepai'ed to receive. It is time for us to subdue our 
passions of every kind. The prospect before us is an 
ocean of uncertainties, in which no pleasing objects 
appear. We have few hopes, excepting that of pre- 
serving our honor and our consciences untainted, and 
a free Constitution to our country. Let me be sure of 
these, and, amidst all my weaknesses, I cannot be over- 
come. With these, I can be happy in extreme poverty, 
in humble insignificance, may I hope and believe in 
death. Without them, I should be miserable with a 
crown upon my head, millions in my coffers, and a 
gaping, idolizing multitude at my feet. J. A. 



62 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

30. Braintree, 21 October, 1775. 

The sickness has abated here and in the neighboring 
towns. In Boston, I am told, it is very sickly among 
the inhabitants and the soldiery. By a man, one Ras- 
kins, who came out the day before yesterday, I learn 
that there are but about twenty-five hundred soldiers 
in town. How many there are at Charlestown, he 
could not tell. He had been in irons three weeks, some 
malicious fellow having said that he saw him at the 
battle of Lexington ; but he proved that he was not 
out of Boston that day, upon which he was released, 
and went with two other men out in a small boat, un- 
der their eye, to fish. They played about near the 
shore, while catching small fish, till tbey thought they 
could possibly reach Dorchester Neck ; no sooner were 
they perceived attempting to escape, than they had 
twenty cannons discharged at them, but they all hap- 
pily reached the shore. He says no language can 
paint the distress of the inhabitants ; most of theiii 
destitute of wood and of provisions of every kind. 
The bakers say, unless they have a new supply of wood 
they cannot bake above one fortnight longer ; their 
biscuit are not above one half the former size ; the 
soldiers are obliged to do very hard duty, and are un- 
easy to a great degree, many of them declaring they 
will not continue much longer in such a state, but at 
all hazards will escape. The inhabitants are desper- 
ate, and contriving means of escape. A floating bat- 
tery of ours went out two nights ago, and rowed near 
the town, and then discharged their guns. Some of 
the balls went into the workhouse, some through the 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. . 63 

tents in the Common, and one through the sign of the 
Lamb Tavern. He says it drove them all out of the 
Common, men, women, and children screaming, and 
threw them into tlie utmost distress ; but, very unhap- 
pily for us, in the discharge of one of the cannon, the 
ball not being properly rammed down, it split and 
killed two men, and wounded seven more, upon which 
they were obliged to return. He also says that the 
Tories are much distressed about the fate of Dr. 
Church,! and very anxious to obtain him, and would 
exchange Lovell for him. 

This man is so exasperated at the ill usage he has 
received from them, that he has determined to enlist 
immediately. They almost starved him whilst he was 
in irons. He says he hopes it will be in his power to 
send some of them to heaven for mercy. They are 
building a fort by the hay-market, and rending down 
houses for timber to do it with. In the course of the 
last week, several persons have found means to escape. 
One of them says it is talked in town that Howe will 
issue a proclamation, giving liberty to all who will not 
take up arms to depart the town, and making it death 
to have any intercourse with the country afterwards. 

At present it looks as if there was no likelihood of 
peace ; the ministry are determined to proceed at all 
events ; the people are already slaves, and have neither 
virtue nor spirit to help themselves nor us. The time 
is hastening when George, like Richard,^ may cry 
" My kingdom for a horse ! " and want even that 

1 Arrested for correspondence with the enemy. 

2 Shakespeare's Richard III. 



64 . JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

wealth to make the purchase. I hope by degrees we 

shall be inured to hardships, and become a virtuous, 

valiant people, forgetting our former luxury, and each 

one apply with industry and frugality to manufactures 

and husbandry, till we rival all other nations by our 

virtues. 

What are ^^our thoughts with regard to Dr. Church ? 

Had you much knowledge of him ? I think you had 

no intimate acquaintance with him. 

" A foe to God was ne'er true friend to man ; 
Some sinister intent taints all he does." 

It is matter of great speculation what will be his 
punishment ; the people are much enraged against 
him ; if he is set at liberty, even after he has received 
a severe punishment, I do not think that he will be 
safe. He will be despised and detested by every one, 
and many suspicions will remain in the minds of peo- 
ple in regard to our rulers ; they are for supposing this 
person is not sincere, and that one they have jealousy of. 

Have you any prospect of returning? I hoped to 
have heard from you by the gentlemen who came as a 
committee here ; but they have been here a week, and 
I have not any letters. 

My father and sister Betsey desire to be remembered 
to you. He is very disconsolate. It makes my heart 
ache to see him, and I know not how to go to the house. 
He said to me the other day, " Child, I see your 
mother, go to what part of the house I will." I think 
he has lost almost as much flesh as if he had been sick; 
and Betsey, poor girl, looks broken and worn with 
grief. These near connections, how they twist and 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. Qb 

cling about the heart, and, when torn off, draw the 

best blood from it. 

" Each friend by fate snatched from us is a plume 
Plucked from the wing of human vanity." 

Be so good as to present my regards to Mrs. Han- 
cock. I hope she is very happy. Mrs. Warren called 
upon me on her way to Watertown. I wish I could 
as easily come to you as she can go to Watertown. 
But it is my lot. In the twelve years we have been 
married, I believe we have not lived together more 
than six. 

If you could, with any conveniency, procure me the 
articles I wrote for, I should be very glad, more espe- 
cially the needles and cloth ; they are in such demand 
that we are really distressed for want of them. 

Adieu. I think of nothing further to add, but that 
I am, with the tenderest regard, your PoRTlA. 

31. Braintree, 12 November, 1775. 

I want to hear from you every day, and I always feel 
sorry when I come to the close of a letter. Your time 
must be greatly engrossed — but little of it to spare 
to the calls of private friendship, and I have reason 
to think I have the largest share of it. Winter makes 
its approaches fast. I hope I shall not be obliged to 
spend it without my dearest friend. I know not how 
to think of it. 

The intelligence you will receive before this reaches 
you will, I should think, make a plain path, though 
a dangerous one, for you. I could not join to-day in 
the petitions of our worthy pastor, for a reconcilia- 



66 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADA3IS. 

tion between onr no longer parent state, but tyrant 
state, and these colonies. Let us separate ; they are 
un^Yorthy to be our brethren. Let us renounce them ; 
and instead of supplications, as formerly, for their 
prosperity and happiness, let us beseech the Almighty 
to blast their councils and to bring to nought all their 
devices. 

I have nothing remarkable to write you. A little 
skirmish happened last week. The particulars I have 
endeavored to collect, but whether I have the facts 
right, I am not certain. A number of cattle were 
kept at Lechmere's Point, where two sentinels were 
placed. In a high tide it is an island. The regulars 
had observed this, and a scheme was laid to send a 
number of them over and take off the stock. Accord- 
ingly, a number of boats and about four hundred men 
were sent. They landed, it seems, unperceived by 
the sentinels, who were asleep ; one of whom they 
killed, and took the other prisoner. As soon as th«y 
were perceived, they fired the cannon from Prospect 
Hill upon them, which sunk one of their boats ; but, 
as the tide was very high, it was difficult getting over, 
and some time before any alarm was given. A Col- 
onel Thompson, of the riflemen, marched instantly 
with his men ; and, though a very stormy day, they 
regarded not the tide nor waited for boats, but marched 
over neck-high in water, and discharged their pieces, 
when the regulars ran, without waiting to get off their 
stock, and made the best of their way to the opposite 
shore. The General sent his thanks in a public man- 
ner to the brave officer and his men. Major Mifflin, 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 67 

I hear, was there, and flew about as though he would 
have raised the whole army. May they never find us 
deficient in courage and spirit. 

Dr. Franklin invited me to spend the winter in 
Philadelphia. I shall wish to be there unless you re- 
turn. I have been like a nun in a cloister, ever since 
you went away, and have not been into any other 
house than my father's and sister's, except once to Col- 
onel Quincy's. Indeed, I have no inclination for com- 
pany. My evenings are lonesome and melancholy. 
In the daytime family affairs take off my attention, 
but the evenings are spent with my departed parent. 
I then ruminate upon all her care and tenderness, 
and am sometimes lost and absorbed in a flood of ten- 
derness ere I am aware of it, or can call to my aid 
my only prop and support. I must bid you adieu ; 
't is late at night Most affectionately yours. 

A. A. , 

32. Philadelphia, 3 December, 1775. 

My best Feiend, — Yours of November 12th is 
before me. I wish I could write you every day, more 
than once, for although I have a number of friends, 
and many relations who are very dear to me, yet all 
the friendship T have for others is far unequal to that 
which warms my heart for you. The most agreeable 
time that I spend here is in writing to you, and con- 
versing with you, when I am alone. But the call of 
friendship and of private affection must give place to 
that of duty and honor. Even private friendship and 
affections require it. 



68 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

I am obliged, by the nature of the service I am in, 
to correspond with many gentlemen, both of the army 
and of the two houses of Assembly, which takes up 
much of my time. How I find time to write half the 
letters I do, I know not, for my whole time seems en- 
grossed with business. The whole Congress is taken 
up, almost, in different committees, from seven to ten 
in the morning. From ten to four or sometimes five, 
we are in Congress, and from six to ten in committees 
again. I don't mention this to make you think me a 
man of importance, because it is not I alone, but the 
whole Congress is thus employed, but to apologize for 
not writing to you oftener. 

Indeed, I know not what to write that is worth 
your reading. I send you the papers, which inform 
you of what is public. As to what passes in Congress, 
I am tied fast by my honor to communicate nothing. 
I hope the Journal of the Session will be published 
soon, and then you will see what we have been about 
in one view, excepting what ought to be excepted. If 
I could visit the coffee-houses in the evening, and the 
coffee-tables of the ladies in the afternoon, I could en- 
tertain you with many smart remarks upon dress and 
air, etc., and give you many sprightly conversations, 
but my fate, you know, is to be moping over books 
and papers all the leisure time I have, when I have 
any. 

I hope I shall be excused from coming to Philadel- 
phia again, at least until other gentlemen have taken 
their turns. But I never will come here again with- 
out you, if I can persuade you to come with me. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 69 

Whom God Las joined together ought not to be put 
asunder so long, with their own consent. We will 
bring master Johnny with us ; and we will be as 
happy as Mr. Hancock and his lady. Thank Abby 
and John for their letters, and kiss Charles and Tom 
for me. John writes like a hero, glowing with ardor 
for his country and burning with indignation against 
her enemies. 

As to coming home I have no thoughts of it ; shall 
stay here till the year is out, for what I know. Af- 
fairs are in a critical state, and important steps are 
now taking every day, so that I could not reconcile it 
to my own mind to be absent from this place at pres- 
ent. J. A. 

33. Watertown, 24 Ja^iwar^, 1776. 

My Dear, — I am determined not to commit a fault 
which escaped me the last. time I set out for the southr 
ward. I waited on General Thomas at Roxbury, this 
morning, and then went to Cambridge, where I dined 
at Colonel Mifflin's with the General and lady, and a 
vast collection of other company, among whom were six 
or seven sachems and warriors of the French Caghna- 
waga Indians with several of their wives and children. 
A savage feast they made of it, yet were very polite 
in the Indian style. One of these sachems is an Eng- 
lishman, a native of this colony, whose name was 
Williams, captivated in infancy with his mother, and 
adopted by some kind squaw ; another, I think, is half 
French blood. 

I was introduced to them by the General, as one of 



70 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

the grand council fire at Philadelphia, which made 
them prick up their ears. They came and shook hands 
with me, and made me low bows and scrapes, etc. In 
short, I was much pleased with this day's entertain- 
ment. 

The General is to make them presents in clothes 
and trinkets. They have visited the lines at Cam- 
bridge, and are going to see those at Roxbury. 

To-morrow we mount for the grand council fire, 
where I shall think often of my little brood at the foot 
of Penn's Hill. Remember me particularly to each of 
the children. Tell them I charge them to be good, 
honest, active, and industrious, for their own sakes as 
well as ours. J. A. 

34. ^ Philadelphia, 11 February, 1776. 

Here I am again. Arrived last Thurday, in good 
health, although I had a cold journey. The weather, 
a great part of the way, was very severe, wdiich pre- 
vented our making very quick progress. My compan- 
ion was agreeable, and made the journey much less 
tedious than it would have been. 

I can form no judgment of the state of public opin- 
ions and principles here as yet, nor any conjectures of 
what an hour may bring forth. 

To-morrow Dr. Smith ^ is to deliver an oration in 
honor of the brave Montgomery. I will send it, as 
soon as it is out, to you. There is a deep anxiety, a 
kind of thoughtful melancholy, and in some, a low- 
ness of spirits approaching to despondency, prevailing 
1 Provost of the College, now the Uuiversity of Peuusylvania. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 71 

through the southern colonies at present, very simihir 
to what I have often observed in Boston, particuhirly 
on the first news of the Port Bill, and last year about 
this time, or a little later, when the bad news arrived 
which dashed their fond hopes, with which they had 
deluded themselves through the winter. In this or a 
similar condition we shall remain, I think, until late 
in the spring, when some critical event will take place, 
perhaps sooner. But the arbiter of events, the sover- 
eign of the world, only knows which way the torrent 
will be turned. Judging by experience, by probabili- 
ties, and by all appearances, I conclude it will roll on 
to dominion and glory, though the circumstances and 
consequences may be bloody. 

In such great changes and commotions, individuals 
are but atoms. It is scarcely worth while to consider 
what the consequences will be to us. What will be 
the effects upon present and future millions, and mill- 
ions of millions, is a question ver}^ interesting to be- 
nevolence, natural and Christian. God grant they may, 
and I firmly believe they will, be happy. J. A. 

35. Saturday Evening, 2 March, 1776. 

I was greatly rejoiced, at the return of your ser- 
vant, to find you had safely arrived, and that you were 
well. I had never heard a word from you after you 
had left New York, and a most ridiculous story had 
been industriously propagated in this and the neigh- 
boring towns to injure the cause and blast your rep- 
utation ; namely, that you and your President had 
gone on board of a man-of-war from New York, and 



72 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

sailed for England. I should not mention so idle a re- 
port, but that it had given uneasiness to some of your 
friends ; not that they in the least credited the report, 
but because the gaping vulgar swallowed the story. 
One man had deserted them and proved a traitor, 
another might, etc. I assure you, such high disputes 
took place in the public-house of this parish, that 
some men were collared and dragged out of the shop 
with great threats, for reporting such scandalous lies, 
and an uncle of ours offered his life as a forfeit for 
you, if the report proved true. However, it has been 
a nine days' marvel, and will now cease. I heartily 
wish every Tory was extirpated from America ; they 
are continually, by secret means, undermining and in- 
juring our cause. 

I am charmed with the sentiments of " Common 
Sense," ^ and wonder how an honest heart, one who 
wishes the welfare of his country and the happiness 
of posterity, can hesitate one moment at adopting 
them. I want to know how these sentiments are re- 
ceived in Congress. I dare say there would be no dif- 
ficulty in procuring a vote and instructions from all 
the assemblies in New England for Independency. I 
most sincerely wish that now, in the lucky moment, it 
might be done. 

I have been kept in a continual state of anxiety 
and expectation ever since you left me. It has been 
said " to-morrow " and " to-morrow," for this month, 
but when the dreadful to-morrow will be, I know not. 
But hark ! The house this instant shakes with the 
1 By Thoniivs Paiuc, in favor of American independence. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 73 

roar of cannon. I have been to the door, and find it 
is a cannonade from our arm3^ Orders, I find, are 
come for all the remaining militia to repair to the 
lines 3\Ionday night by twelve o'clock. No sleep for 
me to-night. And if I cannot, who have no guilt 
upon my soul with regard to this cause, how shall the 
miserable wretches who have been the procurers of 
this dreadful scene, and those who are to be the act- 
ors, lie down with the load of guilt upon their souls ? 

Sunday Evening, 3 March. 
I went to bed after twelve, but got no rest ; the 
cannon continued firing, and mj^ heart beat pace with 
them all night. We have had a pretty quiet day, but 
what to-morrow will bring forth, God only knows. 

Monday Evexing. 

Tolerably quiet. To-day the militia have all mus- 
tered with three days' provision, and are all marched 
by three o'clock this afternoon, though their notice 
was no longer ago than eight o'clock, Saturday. And 
now we have scarcely a man, but our regular guards, 
either in Weymouth, Hingham, Braintree or Milton, 
and the militia from the more remote towns are called 
in as seacoast guards. Can you form to yourself an 
idea of our sensations ? 

I have just returned from Penn's Hill, where I have 
been sitting to hear the amazing roar of cannon, and 
from whence I could see every shell which was thrown. 
The sound, I think, is one of the grandest in nature, 
and is of the true species of the sublime. 'T is now 



74 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

an incessant roar ; but oh ! the fatal ideas which are 
connected with the sound ! How many of our dear 
countrymen must fall ! 

Tuesday Morning. 
I went to bed about twelve, and rose again a little 
after one. I could no more sleep than if I had been 
in the engagement ; the rattling of the windows, the 
jar of the house, the continual roar of twenty-four 
pounders, and the bursting of shells, give us such 
ideas, and realize a scene to us of which we could form 
scarcely any conception. About six, this morning, 
there was quiet. I rejoiced in a few hours' calm. I 
hear we got possession of Dorchester Hill last night ; 
four thousand men upon it to-day ; lost but one man. 
The ships are all drawn round the town. To-night 
we shall realize a more terrible scene still. I some- 
times think I cannot stand it. I wish myself with 
you, out of hearing, as I cannot assist them. I hope 
to give you joy of Boston, even if it is in ruins, before 
I send this away. I am too much agitated to write 
as I ought, and languid for want of rest. 

TiiURSDAy, Fast Day. 
All my anxiety and distress is at present at an end. 
I feel disappointed. This day our militia are all re- 
turning, without effecting anything more than taking 
possession of Dorchester Hill. I hope it is wise and 
just, but, from all the muster and stir, 1 hoped and ex- 
pected more important and decisive scenes. I would 
not have suffered all I have for two such hills. Ever 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 75 

since the taking of that, we have had a perfect cahn ; 
nor can I learn yet what effect it has had in Boston. 
I do not hear of one person's escaping since. 

Sunday Evening, 10 March. 

I had scarcely finished these lines when ray ears 
were again assaulted with the roar of cannon. I could 
not write any further. My hand and heart will trem- 
ble at this " domestic fury and fierce civil strife," 
which "cumber all" our "parts;" though "blood 
and destruction " are " so much in use," " and dread- 
ful objects so familiar," yet is not " pity choked," 
nor my heart grown callous. I feel for the unhappy 
wretches who know not where to fly for safety. I 
feel still more for my bleeding countr^nnen, who are 
hazarding their lives and their limbs. A most terri- 
ble and incessant cannonade from half after eight till 
six this morning. I hear we lost four men killed, and 
some wounded, in attempting to take the hill nearest 
the town, called Nook's Hill. We did some work, but 
the fire from the ships beat off our men, so that they 
did not secure it, but retired to the fort upon the 
other hill. 

I have not got all the particulars ; I wish I had ; 
but, as I have an opportunity of sending this, I shall 
endeavor to be more particular in my next. 

If there are reinforcements here, I believe we shall 

be driven from the seacoast ; but, in whatever state I 

am, I will endeavor to be therewith content. 

" Man wants but little here below, 
Nor wants that little lonsf." 



76 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

You will excuse this very incorrect letter. You see 
in what perturbation it has been written, and how 
many times I have left off. Adieu. Yours, 

A. A. 

36. leil/mr/i, 1776, 

Before this reaches you, I imagine you will have re- 
ceived two letters from me ; the last I closed this day 
week. Since that time there have been some move- 
ments amongst the ministerial troops, as if they meant 
to evacuate the town of Boston. Between seventy 
and eighty vessels of various sizes are gone down, and 
lie in a row in fair sight of this place, all of which ap- 
pear to be loaded ; and by what can be collected from 
our own observations, and from deserters, they have 
been plundering the town. I have been very faith- 
less with regard to their quitting Boston, and know 
not how to account for it ; nor am I yet satisfied that 
they will leave it, though it seems to be the prevail- 
ing opinion of most people. 

We are obliged to place the militia upon guard 
every night upon the shores, through fear of an inva- 
sion. There has been no firing since last Tuesda}^ till 
about twelve o'clock last night, when I was waked out 
of my sleep with a smart cannonade, which continued 
till nine o'clock this morning, and prevented any fur- 
ther repose for me. The occasion I have not yet 
heard ; but before I close this letter I may be able to 
give you some account of it. 

By the accounts in the public papers, the plot thick- 
ens, and some very important crisis seems near at 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 77 

hand. Perhaps Providence sees it necessary, in order 
to answer important ends and designs, that the seat 
of war should be changed from this to the southern 
colonies, that each may have a proper sympathy with 
the other and unite in a separation. The refuge of 
the believer, amidst all the afflictive dispensations of 
Providence, is that the Lord reigneth, and that He 
can restrain the arm of man. 

Orders are given to our army to hold themselves in 
readiness to march at a moment's warning. " I '11 
meet you at Philippi," said the ghost of C«sar to 
Brutus.^ 

Sunday Noon. 
Being quite sick with a violent cold, I have tarried 
at home- to-day. I find the firing was occasioned by 
our people's taking possession of Nook's Hill, which 
they kept up in spite of the cannonade, and which 
has really obliged our enemy to decamp this morning 
on board the transports, as I hear by a messenger just 
come from head-quarters. Some of the selectmen have 
been to the lines, and inform that they have carried 
away everything they could possibly take ; and what 
they could not they have burnt, broke, or hove into 
the water. This is, I believe, fact ; many articles 
of good household furniture having in the course of 
the week come on shore at Great Hill, both upon this 
and Weymouth side, — lids of desks, mahogany chairs, 
tables, etc. Our people, I hear, will have liberty to 
enter Boston, — those who have had the small-pox. 
1 In Shakespeare's Julius Csesar. 



78 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

The enemy have not yet come under sail, I cannot 
help suspecting some design, which we do not yet 
comprehend. To what quarter of the world they are 
bound is wholly unknown ; but 't is generally thought 
to New York. Many people are elated with their 
quitting Boston. I confess I do not feel so. 'Tis 
only lifting the burden from one shoulder to the other, 
which is perhaps less able or less willing to support 
it. To what a contemptible situation are the troops 
of Britain reduced ! I feel glad, however, that Bos- 
ton is not destroyed. I hope it will be so secured and 
guarded as to baffle all future attempts against it. I 
hear that General Howe said, upon going on some em- 
inence in town to view our troops, who had taken 
Dorchester Hill, unperceived by them till sunrise, 
" My God ! these fellows have done more work in 
one night than I could make my army do in three 
months." And he might well say so; for in one night 
two forts and long breastworks were sprung up, be- 
sides several barracks. Three hundred and seventy 
teams were employed, most of which went three loads 
in the night, besides four thousand men, who worked 
with good hearts. 

From Penn's Hill we have a view of the largest 
fleet ever seen in America. You may count upwards 
of a hundred and seventy sail. They look like a for- 
est. It was very lucky for us that we got possession 
of Nook's Hill. They had placed their cannon so as 
to fire upon the top of the hill, where they had ob- 
served our people marking out the ground ; but it was 
only to elude them ; for they began lower upon the 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 79 

hill and nearer the town. It was a very dark, foggy 
evening, and they had possession of the hill six hours 
before a gun was fired ; and when they did fire, they 
overshot our people, so that they were covered before 
morning, and not one man lost, which the enemy no 
sooner discovered than Bunker Hill was abandoned, 
and every man decamped as soon as he could. They 
found they should not be able to get away if we once 
got our cannon mounted. Our General may say with 
Ctesar, " Veni, vidi, vici.''^ 

Monday Morning. 
A fine, quiet night. No alarms — no cannon. The 
more I think of our enemies quitting Boston, the 
more amazed I am that they should leave such a har- 
bor, such fortifications, such intrenchments, and that 
we should be in peaceable possession of a town which 
w'e expected would cause us a river of blood, without 
one drop shed. Surely it is the Lord's doings, and it 
is marvellous in our eyes. Every foot of ground Avhich 
they obtain now they must fight for, and may they 
purchase it at a Bunker Hill price. A. A. 

37. Philadelphia, 29 March, 1776. 

I give you joy of Boston and Charlestown, once 
more the habitation of Americans. I am waiting with 
great impatience for letters from you, which I know 
will contain many particulars. We are taking pre- 
cautions to defend every place that is in danger, the 
Carolinas, Virginia, New York, Canada. I can think 
of nothing but fortifying Boston harbor. I want 



80 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

more cannon than are to be bad. I want a fortifica- 
tion upon Point Alderton, one upon Lovell's Isbmd, 
one upon George's Island, several upon Long Island, 
one upon tlie Moon, one upon Squantum. I want 
to bear of balf a dozen fire-sbips, and two or tbree 
hundred fire-rafts prepai'ed. I want to bear of row- 
galleys, floating batteries built, and booms laid across 
the channel in the narrows, and Vaisseaux de Frise 
sunk in it. I wish to hear that you are translating 
Braintree commons into the cbanneb No efforts, no 
expense are too extravagant for me to wish for, to 
fortify that harbor so as to make it impregnable. 
I hope everybody will join and work until it is done. 
We have this week lost a very valuable friend of 
the colonies in Governor Ward, of Rhode Island, by 
the small-j)ox in the natural way. He never would 
hearken to his friends, who have been constantly ad- 
vising him to be inoculated, ever since the first Con- 
gress began. But he would not be persuaded. Nunx- 
bers who have been inoculated have gone through 
this distemper without any danger, or even confine- 
ment, but nothing would do. He must take it in the 
natural way and die. He was an amiable and a sen- 
sible man, a steadfast friend to his country upon very 
pure principles. His funeral was attended with the 
same solemnities as Mr. Randolph's.^ Mr. Stillman 
being the Anabaptist minister here, of which persua- 
sion was the Governor, was desired by Congress to 
preach a sermon, which he did with great applause. 
' Remember me as you ought. j. A. 

1 Peyton Randolph, rrcsWent of Congress. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 81 

38. Brainteee, 31 March, 1776. 

I wish you would ever write me a letter half as 
long as I write you, and tell me, if you ma}^ where 
your fleet are gone ; what sort of defence Virginia can 
make against our common enemy ; whether it is so 
situated as to make an able defence. Are not the 
gentry lords, and the common people vassals ? x\re 
they not like the uncivilized vassals Britain represents 
us to be ? I hope their riflemen, who have shown 
themselves very savage and even blood-thirsty, are not 
a specimen of the generality of the people. I am 
willing to allow the colony great merit for haviug pi-o- 
duced a Washington ; but they have been shamefully 
duped by a Dunmore. 

I have sometimes been ready to think that the pas- 
sion for liberty cannot be equally strong in the breasts 
of those who have been , accustomed to deprive their 
fellow-creatures of theirs. Of this I am certain, that 
it is not founded upon that generous and Christian 
principle of doing to others as we would that others 
should do unto us. 

Do not you want to see Boston ? I am fearful of 
the small-pox, or I should have been in before this 
time. I got Mr. Crane to go to our house and see 
what state it was in. I find it has been occupied by 
one of the doctors of a regiment ; ver^^ dirty, but no 
other damage has been done to it. The few things 
which were left in it are all gone. I look upon it as 
a new acquisition of property — a property which one 
month ago I did not value at a single shilling, and 
would with pleasure have seen it in flames. 
6 



82 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

The town in general is left in a better state than 
we expected; more owing to a precipitate flight than 
any regard to the inhabitants ; though some individ- 
nals discovered a sense of honor and justice, and have 
left the rent of the houses in which they were for the 
owners, and the furniture unhurt, or, if damaged, suffi- 
cient to make it good. Otliers have committed abom- 
inable ravages. The mansion-house of your President 
is safe, and the furniture unhurt ; while the house and 
furniture of the Solicitor General ^ have fallen a prey 
to their own merciless party. Surely the very fiends 
feel a reverential awe for virtue and patriotism, whilst 
they detest the parricide and traitor. 

I feel very differently at the approach of spring 
from what I did a month ago. We knew not then 
whether we could plant or sow with safety ; whether, 
where we had tilled, we could reap the fruits of our 
own industry ; whether we could rest in our own cot- 
tages, or whether we should be driven from the sea-- 
coast to seek shelter in the wilderness ; but now we 
feel a temporary peace, and the poor fugitives are 
returning to their deserted habitations. 

Though we felicitate ourselves, we sympathize with 
those who are trembling lest the lot of Boston should 
be theirs. But they cannot be in similar circum- 
stances unless pusillanimity and cowardice should take 
possession of them. They have time and warning 
given them to see the evil and shun it. 

I long to hear that you have declared an indepen- 
dency. And, by the way, in the new code of laws 
1 Samuel Quincy. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 83 

which I suppose it will be necessary for you to make, 
I desire you would remember the ladies and be more 
generous and favorable to them than your ancestors. 
Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of 
the husbands. Remember, all men would be tyrants 
if they could. If particular care and attention is not 
paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a re- 
bellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws 
in which we have no voice or representation. 

That your sex are naturally tyrannical is a truth so 
thoroughly established as to admit of no dispute ; but 
such of you as wish to be hajapy willingly give up the 
harsh title of master for the more tender and endear- 
ing one of friend. Why, then, not put it out of the 
power of the vicious and the lawless to use us with 
cruelty and indignity with impunity ? Men of sense 
in all ages abhor those customs which treat us only 
as the vassals of your sex ; regard us, then, as beings 
placed by Providence under your protection, and in 
imitation of the Supreme Being make use of that 
power only for our happiness. A. A. 

(to JOHN Q. ADAMS.) 
39. Philadelphia, 18 April, 1776. 

I thank jow. for your agreeable letter of the 24th 
of March. I rejoice with you that our friends are 
once more in possession of the town of Boston ; am 
glad to hear that so little damage is done to our 
house. 

I hope you and your sister and brothers will take 
proper notice of these great events, and remember 



84 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

under whose wise and kind Providence they are all 
conducted. Not a sparrow falls, nor a hair is lost, but 
by the direction of infinite wisdom. Much less are 
cities conquered and evacuated. I hope that you will 
all remember how many losses, dangers, and incon- 
veniences have been borne by your parents, and the 
inhabitants of Boston in general, for the sake of pre- 
serving freedom for you and yours; and I hope you 
will all follow the virtuous example, if, in any future 
time, your country's liberties shall be in danger, and 
suffer every human evil rather than give them up. 
My love to your mamma, your sister and brothers, 
and all the family. 

I am your affectionate father, j. A. 

40. Brainteee, 7 May, 1776. 

How many are the solitary hours I spend ruminat- 
ing upon the past and anticipating the future, whilst 
you, overwhelmed with the cares of state, have but a 
few moments you can devote to any individual. All 
domestic pleasures and enjoyments are absorbed in 
the great and important duty you owe your country, 
" for our country is, as it were a secondary god, and 
the first and greatest parent. It is to be preferred to 
parents, wives, children, friends, and all things, — the 
gods only excepted ; for, if our country perishes, it is 
as impossible to save an individual as to preserve one 
of the fingers of a mortified hand." Thus do I sup- 
press every wish, and silence ever}^ murmur, acquiesc- 
ing in a painful separation from the companion of my 
youth and the friend of my heart. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 85 

I believe 't is near ten clays since I wrote you a 
line. I have not felt in a humor to entertain you. If 
I had taken up my pen perhaps some unbecoming in- 
vective might have fallen from it. The eyes of our 
rulers have been closed, and a lethargy has seized al- 
most every member. I fear a fatal security has taken 
possession of them. Whilst the building is in flames, 
they tremble at the expense of water to quench it. 
In short, two months have elapsed since the evacua- 
tion of Boston, and very little has been done in that 
time to secure it, or the harbor, from future invasion. 
The people are all in a flame, and no one among us, 
that I have heard of, even mentions expense. They 
think, universally, that there has been an amazing 
neglect somewhere. Many have turned out as volun- 
teers to work upon Noddle's Island, and many more 
would go uj)on Nantasket, if the business was once set 
on foot. " 'T is a maxim of state, that power and 
libert}^ are like heat and moisture. Where they are 
well mixed, everything prospers ; where they are sin- 
gle, they are destructive." 

A government of more stability is much wanted in 
this colony, and they are ready to receive it from the 
hands of the Congress. And since I have begun with 
maxims of state, I will add another, namely, that a 
people may let a king fall, yet still remain a people ; 
but if a king let his people slip from him, he is no 
longer a king. And as this is most certainly our 
case, why not proclaim to the world, in decisive terms, 
your own importance ? 

Shall we not be despised by foreign powers for hes- 
itating so long at a word ? 



86 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

I cannot say that I think you are very generous 
to the ladies ; for, whilst you are proclaiming peace 
and good-will to men, emancipating all nations, you 
insist upon retaining an absolute power over wives. 
But you must remember that arbitrary power is like 
most other things which are very hard, very liable to 
be broken ; and, notwithstanding all your wise laws 
and maxims, we have it in our power, not only to free 
ourselves, but to subdue our masters, and, without 
violence, throw both your natural and legal authority 
at our feet : — 

" Charm by accepting, by submitting sway, 
Yet have our humor most when we obey." 

I thank you for several letters which I have re- 
ceived since I wrote last ; they alleviate a tedious ab- 
sence, and I long earnestly for a Saturday evening, 
and experience a similar pleasure to that which I used 
to find in the return of my friend upon that day after 
a week's absence. The idea of a year dissolves all 
my philosophy. 

Our little ones, whom you so often recommend to 
my care and instruction, shall not be deficient in vir- 
tue or probity, if the precepts of a mother have their 
desired effect ; but they would be doubly enforced, 
could they be indulged with the example of a father 
alternately before them. I often point them to their 

sire, — 

" engaged in a corrupted state, 
Wrestling with vice and faction." 

9 May. 

I designed to have finished the sheet, but an oppor- 
tunity offering, I close, only Just informing you that 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 87 

May the 7th our privateers took two prizes in the 
bay, in fair sight of the man-of-war : one, a brig from 
Ireland ; the other from Fayal, loaded with wine, 
brandy, etc. ; the other with beef, etc. The wind was 
.east, and a flood tide, so that the tenders could not get 
out, though they tried several times ; the Light-house 
fired signal guns, but all would not do. They took 
them in triumph, and carried them into Lynn. 

Pray be kind enough to remember me at all times, 
and write, as often as you possibly can, to your. 

Portia. 

41. 17 May, 1776. 

Is it not a saying of Moses, " Who am I, that 
I should go in and out before this great people " ? 
When I consider the great events which are passed, 
and those greater which are rapidly advancing, and 
that I may have been instrumental in touching some 
springs and turning some small wheels, which have 
had and will have such effects, I feel an awe upon my 
mind which is not easily described. Great Britain 
has at last driven America to the last step, a complete 
separation from her ; a total, absolute independence, 
not only of her parliament, but of her crown, for such 
is the amount of the resolve of the loth.i Confed- 
eration among ourselves, or alliances with foreign na- 
tions, are not necessary to a perfect separation from 
Britain. That is effected by extinguishing all author- 
ity under the crown, parliament, and nation, as the 

1 Declaring " it was necessary thab the exercise of every kind of au- 
thority under the crown should be totally suppressed." 



88 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

resolution for instituting governments has done, to all 
intents and purposes. Confederation will be neces- 
sary for our internal concord, and alliances may be so 
for our external defence. 

I Lave reasons to believe that no colony, which shall, 
assume a government under the people, will give it 
uj). There is something very unnatural and odious in 
a government a thousand leagues off. A whole gov- 
ernment of our own choice, managed by persons whom 
we love, revere, and can confide in, has charms in it 
for which men will fight. Two young gentlemen 
from South Carolina in this city, who were in Charles- 
ton when their new constitution was promulgated, and 
when their new governor and council and assembly 
walked out in procession, attended by the guards, 
company of cadets, light-horse, etc., told me that they 
were beheld by the people with transports and tears 
of joy. The people gazed at them with a kind of 
rapture. They both told me that the reflection that 
these were gentlemen whom they all loved, esteemed, 
and revered ; gentlemen of their own choice, whom 
they could trust, and whom they could displace if any 
of them should behave amiss, affected them so that 
they could not help crying. They say their people 
will never give up this government. One of these 
gentlemen is a relation of yours, a Mr. Smith, son of 
Mr. Thomas Smith. I shall give him this letter or 
another to you. 

A privateer fitted out here by Colonel Roberdeau 
and Major Bayard since our resolves for privateering, 
I am this moment informed, has taken a valuable 
prize. This is encouragement at the beginning. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 89 

In one or two of your letters, you remind me to 
tliink of you as I ought. Be assured, there is not an 
hour of the day in which I don't think of you as I 
ought, that is, with every sentiment of tenderness, es- 
teem, and admiration. j. A. 

42. Philadelphia, 22 May, 1776. 

When a man is seated in the midst of forty people, 
some of whom are talking and others whispering, it is 
not easy to think what is proper to write. I shall 
send you the newspapers, which will inform you of 
public affairs, and the particular flickerings of parties 
in this colony. I am ha-ppy to learn from your letter 
that a flame is at last raised among the people for the 
fortification of the harbor. Whether Nantasket or 
Point Alderton would be proper posts to be taken, I 
can't say. But I would fortify every place which is 
proper, and which cannon could be obtained for. Gen- 
erals Gates and Mifflin are now here. General Wash- 
ington will be here to-morrow, when we shall consult 
and deliberate concerning the operations of the ensu- 
ing campaign. 

We have dismal accounts from Europe of the prep- 
arations against us. This summer will be very im- 
portant to us. We shall have a severe trial of our pa- 
tience, fortitude, and perseverance. But I hope we 
shall do valiantly, and tread down our enemies. 

I have some thoughts of petitioning the General 
Court for leave to bring my family here. I am a 
lonely, forlorn creature here. It used to be some com- 
fort to me that I had a servant and some horses. They 



90 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

composed a sort of family for me. But now there is 
not one creature here that I seem to have any kind of 
relation to. It is a cruel reflection, which very often 
comes across me, that I should be separated so far from 
those babes whose education and welfare lie so near 
my heart. But greater misfortunes than these must 
not divert us from superior duties. 

Your sentiments of the duties we owe to our country 
are such as become the best of women and the best of 
men. Among all the disappointments and 23erplexities 
which have fallen to my share in life, nothing has con- 
tributed so much to support my mind as the choice 
blessing of a wife whose capacity enabled her to com- 
prehend, and whose pure virtue obliged her to approve, 
the views of her husband. This has been the cheering 
consolation of my heart in my most solitary, gloom}^, 
and disconsolate hours. In this remote situation, I am 
deprived in a great measure of this comfort. Yet I 
read and read again your charming letters, and they 
serve me, in some faint degree, as a substitute for the 
company and conversation of the writer. I want to 
take a walk with you in the garden, to go over to the 
common, the plain, the meadow. I want to take 
Charles in one hand and Tom in the other, and walk 
with you, Abby on your right hand and John upon 
my left, to view the corn fields, the orchards, etc. 

Alas, poor imagination ! how faintly and imperfectly 
do you supply the want of originality and reality. 
But instead of these pleasing scenes of domestic life, I 
hope you will not be disturbed with the alarms of war. 
I hope, yet I fear. J. A. 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 91 

43. 27 May. 

My heart is as light as a feather and my spirits are 
dancing. I received this afternoon a fine parcel of let- 
ters and papers by Colonel Thayer. It was a feast to 
me. I shall rest in quiet, I hope, this night. The 
papers I have not read, but sit down to write you, for 
Mr. Bass has just been here to let me know that Harr}' 
will call upon him to-morrow and take this letter for 
me. I would not have you anxious about me. I make 
out better than I did. 

I took a ride last week, and ventured just as far as 
the stump of Liberty Tree. Roxbury looks more in- 
jured than Boston. That is, the houses look more 
torn to pieces. I was astonished at the extent of our 
lines and their strength. 

We have taken a most noble prize, the inventory of 
which you will have in the paper. The poor captain ^ 
has since lost his life in a desperate engagement with 
thirteen boats from the men-of-war, which attacked 
and attempted to board him ; but by a most brave 
resistance they sunk four of the boats, and fought so 
warmly with their spears and small arms as to oblige 
them to quit him, though he had but twenty-seven 
men and they five times his number. He unhappily 
fell, and was the only one who did. INIany dead 
bodies have since been taken up, among whom is an 
officer. 

We have now in fair sight of my uncle's the Com- 
modore, a thirty-six gun frigate, another large vessel, 
and six small craft. I hope after election we shall 
1 Mugford. 



92 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

have ways and means devised to drive off these tor- 
ments. Providence seems to have delivered into our 
hands the very articles most needed, and at a time 
when we were weak and not so well provided for as 
we could wish. We have two row-galleys building, 
and men of spirit to use them I dare say will be found. 
One engagement only whets their appetite for an- 
other. 

I heard last night that we had three regiments com- 
ing back to us, with General Gates to head them ; at 
which I most sincerely rejoiced. I think he is the man 
we want. 

You ask my advice with regard to your office. If I 
was to consult only my own private satisfaction and 
pleasure, I should request you to resign it ; but alas, 
that is of small moment when compared to the whole, 
and I think you qualified and know you disposed to 
serve your country. I must advise you to hold it, at 
least for the present year. And in saying this I make 
a sacrifice which those only can judge of whose hearts 
are one. 

I was much affected, the other day, by a letter 
which I saw from the lady of the late worthy General 
Montgomery. Speaking of him, she says, " Suffer me 
to repeat his last words to me : ' You shall never blush 
for your Montgomery.' Nobly has he kept his word. 
As a wife I must ever mourn the husband, friend, and 
lover of a thousand virtues, of all domestic bliss, the 
idol of my warmest affections, and, in one word, my 
every dream of happiness. Methinks I am like the 
poor widow in the (jospel ; having given my mite, I 
sit down disconsolate." 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 93 

These are only detached parts of the letter, to 
which I fear I have not done justice, as I have only 
mj memory to serve me ; but it was a very fine letter. 
Oh that I could annihilate space. Yours, A. A. 

44. Plymouth, 17 June, 1776, a remarkable day. 

The approbation you give to my conduct in the 
management of our private affairs is very grateful to 
me, and sufficiently compensates for all my anxieties 
and endeavors to discharge the many duties devolved 
upon me in consequence of the absence of my dear- 
est friend. Were they discharged according to my 
wishes, I should merit the praises you bestow. 

You see I date from Plymouth. I came upon a 
visit to our amiable friends, accompanied by my sister 
Betsey, a day or two ngo. It is the first night I have 
been absent since you left me. Having determined 
upon this visit for some time, I put my family in order 
and prepared for it, thinking I might leave it with 
safety. Yet, the day I set out I was under many ap- 
prehensions, by the coming in of ten transports, which 
were seen to have many soldiers on board, and the de- 
termination of the people to go and fortify upon Long 
Island, Pettick's Island, Nantasket, and Great Hill. 
It was apprehended they would attempt to land some- 
where, but the next morning I had the pleasure to 
hear they were all driven out. Commodore and all ; 
not a transport, a ship, or a tender to be seen. This 
shows what might have been long ago done. Had 
this been done in season, the ten transports, with 
many others, in all probability would have fallen into 
our hands ; but the progress of wisdom is slow. 



94 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

Since I arrived here I have really had a scene quite 
novel to me. The brig Defence, from Connecticut, 
put in here for ballast. The officers, who are all from 
thence, and who are intimately acquainted at Dr. La- 
throp's, invited his lady to come on board, and bring 
with her as many of her friends as she could collect. 
She sent an invitation to our friend, Mrs. Warren 
and to us. The brig lay about a mile and a half from 
town. The officers sent their barge, and we went. 
Every mark of respect and attention which was in 
their power, they showed us. She is a fine brig, 
mounts sixteen guns, twelve swivels, and carries one 
hundred and twenty men. A hundred and seventeen 
were on board, and no private family ever appeared 
under better regulation than the crew. It was as still 
as though there had been only half a dozen ; not a 
profane word among any of them. The captain him- 
self is an exemplary man (Harden his name) ; has 
been in nine sea engagements ; says if he gets a man- 
who swears, and finds he cannot reform him, he turns 
him on shore, yet he is free to confess that it was the 
sin of his youth. He has one lieutenant, a very fine 
fellow, Smelden by name. We spent a very agreea- 
ble afternoon, and drank tea on board. They showed 
us their arms, which were sent by Queen Anne, and 
everything on board was a curiosity to me. They 
gave us a mock engagement with an enemy, and the 
manner of taking a ship. The young folks went upon 
the quarter-deck and danced. Some of their Jacks 
played very well upon the violin and German flute. 
The brig bears the Continental colors, and was fitted 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 95 

out by the Colony of Connecticut. As we set off from 
the brig, they fired their guns in honor of us, a cere- 
mony I would very readily have dispensed with. 

I pity you, and feel for you under all the difficulties 
you have to encounter. My daily petitions to Heaven 
for you are that you may have health, wisdom, and 
fortitude sufficient to carry you through the great and 
arduous business in which you are engaged, and that 
your endeavors may be crowned with success. 

I have just this moment heard that the brig which 
I was on board of on Saturday, and which sailed yes- 
terday morning from this place, fell in with two trans- 
ports, having each of them a hundred and fifty men 
on board, and took them, and has brovight them into 
Nantasket Roads, under cover of the guns which are 
mounted there. I will add further particulars as soon 
as I am informed. 

I am now better informed, and will give you the 
truth. The brig Defence, accompanied by a small pri- 
vateer, sailed in concert Sunday morning. About 
twelve o'clock they discovered two transports, and 
made for them. Two privateers, which were small, 
had been in chase of them, but finding the enemy was 
of much larger force, had run under Cohasset rocks. 
The Defence gave a signal gun to bring them out. 
Captain Burk, who accompanied the Defence, being 
a prime sailor, he came up first, and poured a broad- 
side on board a sixteen gun brig. The Defence soon 
attacked her upon her bows. An obstinate engage- 
ment ensued. There was a continual blaze upon all 
sides for many hours, and it was near midnight before 



96 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

tbey struck. In the engagement the Defence lost one 
man, and five wounded. With Burk not one man re- 
ceived any damage ; on board the enemj^, fourteen 
killed, among whom was a major, and sixty wounded. 
They are jDart of the Highland soldiers. The other 
transport mounted six guns. When the fleet sailed 
out of this harbor last week, they blew up the Light- 
house. They met six. transports coming in, which 
they carried off with them. I hope we shall soon be 
in such a posture of defence as to bid them defiance. 
I feel no great anxiety at the large armament de- 
signed against us. The remarkable interpositions of 
Heaven in our favor cannot be too gratefully acknowl- 
edged. He who fed the Israelites in the wilderness, 
" who clothes the lilies of the field, and feeds the 
young ravens when they cry," will not forsake a peo- 
ple engaged in so righteous a cause, if we remember 
his loving kindness. We wanted powder, — we have 
a supply. We wanted arms, — we have been favored 
in that respect. We wanted hard money, — twenty- 
two thousand dollars, and an equal value in plate, are 
delivered into our hands. A. A. 

45. 3 Jitli/, 1776. 

Your favor of 17 June, dated at Plymouth, was 
handed me by yesterday's post. I was much pleased 
to find that you had taken a journey to Plymouth, to 
see your friends, in the long absence of one whom you 
may wish to see. The excursion will be an amuse- 
ment, and will serve your health. How happy would 
it have made me to have taken this journey with you ! 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 97 

Yesterday, tlie greatest question was decided which 
ever was debated in America, and a greater, perhaps, 
never was nor will be decided among men. A Reso- 
lution was passed without one dissenting Colony " TJiat 
these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, 
free and independent States, and as such they have, 
and of right ought to have, full power to make war, 
conclude peace, establish commerce, and to do all other 
acts and things which other States may rightfully do." 
You will see, in a few days, a Declaration setting forth 
the causes which have impelled us to this mighty rev- 
olution, and the reasons which will justify it in the 
sight of God and man. A plan of confederation will 
be taken up in a few days. 

When I look back to the year 1761, and recollect 
the argument concerning writs of assistance in the su- 
perior court, which I have hitherto considered as the 
commencement of this controversy between Great 
Britain and America, and run through the whole pe- 
riod from that time to this, and recollect the series of 
political events, the chain of causes and effects, I am 
surprised at the suddenness as well as greatness of this 
revolution. Britain has been filled with folly, and 
America with wisdom ; at least, this is my judgment. 
Time must determine. It is the will of Heaven that 
the two countries should be sundered forever. It may 
be the will of Heaven that America shall suffer calam- 
ities still more wasting, and distresses yet more dread- 
ful. If this is to be the case, it will have this good 
effect at least. It will inspire us with many virtues 
which we have not, and correct many errors, follies, 
7 



98 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

and vices which threaten to disturb, dishonor, and de- 
stroy us. The furnace of affliction produces refine- 
ment in states as well as individuals. And the new 
governments we are assuming in ever}^ part will re- 
quire a purification from our vices, and an augmenta- 
tion of our virtues, or they will be no blessings. The 
people will have unbounded power, and the people are 
extremely addicted to corruption and venality, as well 
as the great. But I must submit all my hopes and 
fears to an overruling Providence, in which, unfash- 
ionable as the faith may be, I firmly believe, j. A. 

46. Philadelphia, 3 /e(/^, 1776. 

Had a Declaration of Independency been made 
seven months ago, it would have been attended with 
many great and glorious effects. 

But on the other hand, the delay of this Declara- 
tion to this time has many great advantages attending 
it. The hopes of reconciliation which were fondly 
entertained by multitudes of honest and well-meaning, 
though weak and mistaken people, have been gradu- 
ally, and at last totally extinguished. Time has been 
given for the whole people maturely to consider the 
great question of independence, and to ripen their 
judgment, dissipate their fears, and allure their hopes 
by discussing it in newspapers and pamphlets, by de- 
bating it in assemblies, conventions, committees of 
safety and inspection, in town and county meetings, as 
well as in private conversations, so that the whole 
people, in every colony of the thirteen, have now 
adopted it as their own act. This will cement the 



FAMILIAR LETTERS. 99 

union, and avoid those heats, and perhaps convulsions, 
which might have been occasioned by such a Declara- 
tion six months ago. 

But the day is past. The second^ day of July, 
1776, will be the most memorable epocha in the his- 
tory of America. I am apt to believe that it will be 
celebrated by succeeding generations as the great an- 
niversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as 
the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to 
God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp 
and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, 

1 The practice has been to celebrate the 4th of July, the day upon 
which the form of the Declaration of Independence was agreed to, 
rather than the 2d, the day upon which the resolution making that 
declaration was determined upon by the Congress. A friend of Mr. 
Adams, who had during his lifetime an opportunity to I'ead tlie two 
letters dated on the 3d, was so much struck with them, that he pro- 
cured the liberty to publish them. But thinking, pi'obabl}^, that a 
slight alteration would better fit them for the taste of the day, and ^ain 
for them a higher character for prophecy, than if printed as they were, 
he obtained leave to put together only the most remarkable paragraphs 
and make one letter out of the two. He then changed the date from the 
3d to the 5th, and the word second to fourth, and published it, the 
public being made aware of these alterations. In this form, and as 
connected with the anniversary of our National Independence, these 
letters have ever since enjoyed great popularity. The editor at first 
entertained some doubt of the expediency of making a variation by 
printing them in their original shape. But upon considering the mat- 
ter maturely, his determination to adhere, in all cases, to the text pre- 
vailed. If any injury to the reputation of Mr. Adams for prophecy 
should ensue, it will be more in form than in substance, and will not 
be, perhaps, without compensation in the restoration of the unpub- 
lished portion. This friend was a nephew, William S. Shaw. But 
the letters had been correctly and fully printed before. See Niles's 
Principles and Acts of the Revolution, p. 330. 



100 JOHN AND ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this conti- 
nent to the other, from this time forward forever more. 
You will think me transported with enthusiasm, but 
I am not. I am well awai'e of the toil and blood and 
treasure that it will cost us to maintain this Declara- 
tion and support and defend these States. Yet through 
all the gloom I can see the rays of ravishing light and 
glory. I can see that the end is more than worth all the 
means. And that posterity will triumph in that day's 
transaction, even although we should rue it, which I 
trust in God we shall not. J. A. 

47. Boston, Sunday, 14 July. 

By yesterday's post I received two letters dated 3d 
and 4th of July, and though your letters never fail to 
give me pleasure, be the subject what it will, yet it 
was greatly heightened by the prospect of the future 
happiness and glory of our country. Nor am I a little 
gratified when I reflect that a person so nearly con- 
nected with me has had the honor of being a principal 
actor in laying a foundation for its future greatness. 

May the foundation of our new Constitution be 
Justice, Truth, Righteousness ! Like the wise man's 
house, may it be founded upon these rocks, and then 
neither storms nor tempests will overthrow it ! 

All our friends desire to be remembered to j'ou, and 
foremost in that number stands your PORTIA. 



THE SPY. 

A TALE OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND. 

BY 

J. FENIMORE COOPER. 



Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 
This is my own, my native land ? 

Scott. 



The Spy was pu Wished in 1821. Its hero is flrawn from life, as the 
author relates in the iiitrodnction to a later edition. Tiie chairman of 

a secret committee of Congress, Mr. had occasion to employ an 

agent whose services differed but little from those of a common spy. 
This man, as will easily be understood, belonged to a condition in life 
which rendered him the least reluctant to appear in so equivocal a char- 
acter. He was jjoor, ignorant, so far as the usual instruction was con- 
cerned ; but cool, shrewd, and fearless by natnre. It was his office to 
learn in what part of the country the agents of the crown were making 
their efforts to embody men, to repair to the place, enlist, appear zeal- 
ous in tiie cause he affected to serve, and oiiierwise to get possession of 
as many of the secrets of the enemy as ]>ossible. The last he of course 
communicated to his employers, wlio took all the means in their power 
to connteract the plans of the Englisli, and frequently witii success. 

It will readily be conceived th it a service like this was attended with 
great personal hazard. In addition to tjie danger of discovery, there 
was the daily risk of falling into the hands of the Americans themselves 
who invariably visited sins of this nature more severely on the natives 
of the country than on the Europeans wiio fell into their hands. In 

fact, the agent of Mr. Avas several times arrested by the local 

authorities ; and, in one instance, he was actually condemned by his 
exasperated countrymen to the gallows. Speedy and jjrivate orders to 
his jailer alone saved him from an ignominious death. He was per- 
mitted to escape ; and this seeming and indeed actual ]ieril was of 
great aid in sup|jortinLr his assumed character among the English. By 
the Americans, in his little sphere, he was denonnced as a bold and in- 
veterate Tory. In this manner he continued to serve his country in 
secret during the early years of the struggle, hourly environed by dan- 
ger, and the constant subject of unmerited opprobrium. 

In the year , Mr. was named to a high and iionorable 

employment at a European court. Before vacating his seat in Con- 
gress he reported to that body an outline of the circumstances related, 
necessarily su|)pressing the name of his agent, and demanding an 
appropriation in behalf of a man who had been of so much use, at so 
great risk. A suitable sum was voted, and its delivery was confided to 
the chairman of the secret committee. 

Mr. took the necessary means to summon his agent to a per- 
sonal interview. Tliey met in a wood, at midnight. Here Mr. 

complimented his companion on his fidelity and adroitness; explained 
the necessity of their communications being closed ; ami finally ten- 
dered the money. The other drew back, and declined receiving it. 
" The country has need of all its means," he said ; " as for myself, I 
can work, or gain a livelihood in various ways." Persuasion was use- 
less, for patriotism was npjjermost in the heart of this remarkable in- 
dividual ; and Mr. de])arted, bearing with him the gold he had 

brought, and a deep respect for the man who had so long hazarded his 
life, unrequited, for the cause they served in common. 



THE SPY. 



CHAPTER I. 

And though amidst the calm of thought entire, 
Some high and haughty features might betray 

A soul impetuous once, — 't was earthly tire 
That fed composure's intellectual ray, 
As Etna's fires grow dim before the rising day. 

Gertkude of Wyoming. 

It was near the close of the year 1780, that a soli- 
tary traveller was seen pursuing his way through one 
of the numerous little valleys of West-Chester. The 
easterly wind, with its chilling dampness and increas- 
ing violence, gave unerring notice of the approach of 
a storm, which, as usual, might be expected to con- 
tinue for several days ; and the experienced eye of the 
traveller was turned through the darkness of the even- 
ing, in quest of some convenient shelter, in which, for 
the term of his confinement by the rain that already 
began to mix with the atmosphere in a thick mist, he 
might obtain such accommodations as his purposes 
required. 

The county of West-Chester, after the British had 
obtained possession of the island of New York, be- 
came common ground, in which both parties continued 



4 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

to act for the remainder of tlie war of the Revokition. 
A large proportion of its inhabitants, either restrained 
by their attachments, or influenced by their fears, 
affected a neutrality they did not feel. The lower 
towns were, of course, more particularly under the 
dominion of the crown, while the upper, finding a 
security from the vicinity of the continental troops, 
were bold in asserting their revolutionary opinions, 
and their right to govern themselves. 

At the sound of the tread of the noble horse ridden 
by the traveller, the mistress of the farm-house he was 
passing at the time might be seen cautiously opening 
the door of the building to examine the stranger ; and 
perhaps, with an averted face, communicating the re- 
sult of her observations to her husband, who, in the 
rear of the building, was prepared to seek, if neces- 
sary, his ordinary place of concealment in the adja- 
cent woods. 

The passage of a stranger, with an appearance of 
somewhat doubtful character, and mounted on an ani- 
mal which, although unfurnished with any of the or- 
dinary trappings of war, partook largely^of the bold 
and upright carriage that distinguished his rider, 
gave rise to many surmises among the gazing inmates 
of the different habitations ; and in some instances, 
where conscience was more than ordinarily awake, to 
no little alarm. 

Sufficient light yet remained to enable the traveller 
to distinguish the improvements which had been made 
in the cultivation, and in the general appearance of 
the grounds around the building to which he was now 



THE SPY. 5 

approaching. The house was of stone, long, low, and 
with a small wing at each extremity. A piazza ex- 
tending along the front, with neatly turned pillars of 
wood, together with the good order and preservation 
of the fences and out-buildings, gave the place an air 
altogether superior to the common farm-houses of the 
country. After leading his horse behind an angle of 
the wall, where it was in some degree protected from 
the wind and rain, the traveller threw his valise over 
his arm, and knocked loudly at the entrance of the 
building for admission. An aged black soon appeared ; 
and without seeming to think it necessarj^, under the 
circumstances, to consult his superiors, — first taking 
one prying look at the applicant, by the light of the 
candle in his hand, — he acceded to the request for 
accommodations. The traveller was shown into an 
extremely neat parlor, where a fire had been lighted 
to cheer the dulness of an easterly storm and an Oc- 
tober evening. After giving the valise into the keep- 
ing of his civil attendant, and politely repeating his re- 
quest to the old gentleman, who arose to receive him, 
and paying his compliments to the three ladies who 
were seated at work with their needles, the stranger 
commenced laying aside some of the outer garments 
which he had worn in his ride. 

On taking an extra handkerchief from his neck, 
and removing a cloak of blue cloth, with a surtout 
of the same material, he exhibited to the scrutiny of 
the observant family party a tall and extremely 
graceful person, of apparently fifty years of age. His 
countenance evinced a settled composure and dignity ; 



6 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

his nose was straight, and approaching to Grecian ; 
his eye, of a gray color, was quiet, thoughtful, and 
rather melancholy ; the mouth and lower part of his 
face being expressive of decision and much character. 
His dress, being suited to the road, was simple and 
plain, but such as was worn by the higher class of his 
countrymen ; he wore his own hair, dressed in a man- 
ner that gave a military air to his appearance, and 
which was rather heightened by his erect and conspicu- 
ously graceful carriage. His whole appearance was so 
impressive and so decidedly that of a gentleman, that, 
as he finished laying aside the garments, the ladies 
arose from their seats, and, together with the master 
of the house, they received anew, and returned, the 
complimentary greetings which were again offered. 

The host was by several years the senior of the 
traveller, and by his manner, dress, and everything 
around him, showed he had seen mvich of life and the 
best society. The ladies were a maiden of forty and 
two much younger, who did not seem, indeed, to have 
reached half those years. The bloom of the elder of 
these ladies had vanished, but her eyes and fine hair 
gave an extremely agreeable expression to her coun- 
tenance ; and there was a softness and an affability in 
her deportment that added a charm many more ju- 
venile faces do not possess. The sisters, for such the 
resemblance between the younger females denoted 
them to be, were in all the pride of youth, and the 
roses, so eminently the property of the West-Chester 
fair, glowed on their cheeks, and lighted their deep 
blue eyes with that lustre which gives so much pleas- 



THE SPY. 7 

ure to the beholder, and which indicates so much 
internal innocence and peace. There was much of 
that feminine delicacy in the appearance of the three 
which distinguishes the sex in this countrj^; and, 
like the gentleman, their demeanor proved them to be 
women of the higher order of life. 

After handing a glass of excellent Madeira to his 
guest, Mr. Wharton, for so was the owner of this re- 
tired estate called, resumed his seat by the fire, with 
another in his own hand. For a moment he paused, 
as if debating with his politeness, but at length threw 
an inquiring glance on the stranger as he inquired, — 

" To whose health am I to have the honor of drink- 
ing?" 

The traveller had also seated himself, and he sat 
unconsciously gazing on the fire while Mr. Wharton 
spoke ; turning his eyes slowly on his host with a look 
of close observation, he replied, while a faint tinge 
gathered on his features, — 

" Mr. Harper." 

" Mr. Harper," resumed the other, with the formal 
precision of that day, " I have the honor to drink 
your health, and to hope you will sustain no injury 
from the rain to which you have been exposed." 

Mr. Harper bowed in silence to the complhnent, 
and he soon resumed the meditations from which he 
had been interrupted, and for which the long ride he 
had that day made in the wind, might seem a very 
natural apology. 

The young ladies had again taken their seats beside 
the workstand, while their aunt, Miss Jeanette Peyton, 



8 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

withdrew to superintend the preparations necessary to 
appease the hunger of their unexpected visitor. A 
short silence prevailed, during which Mr. Harper was 
apparently enjoying the change in his situation, when 
Mr. Wharton again broke it, by inquiring whether 
smoke was disagreeable to his companion ; to which, 
receiving an answer in the negative, he immediately 
resumed the pipe which had been laid aside at the en- 
trance of the traveller. 

There was an evident desire on the part of the host 
to enter into conversation, but either from an appre- 
hension of treading on dangerous ground, or an unwill- 
ingness to intrude upon the rather studied taciturnity 
of his guest, he several times hesitated, before he could 
venture to make any further remark. At length, a 
movement from Mr. Harper, as he raised his eyes to 
the party in the room, encouraged him to proceed. 

" I find it very difficult," said Mr. Wharton, cau- 
tiously avoiding, at first, such subjects as he wished to 
introduce, " to procure that quality of tobacco for my 
evenings' amusements, to which I have been accus- 
tomed." 

" I should think the shops in New York might fur- 
nish the best in the country," calmly rejoined the 
other. 

"Why — yes," returned the host in rather a hesi- 
tating manner, lifting his eyes to the face of Harper, 
and lowering them quickly vinder his steady look, 
" there must be plenty in town ; but the war has made 
communication with the city, however innocent, too 
dangerous to be risked for so trifling an article as 
tobacco." 



THE SPY. 9 

The box from which Mr. Wharton had just taken 
a supply for his pipe was lying open, within a few 
inches of the elbow of Harper, who took a small 
quantity from its contents, and applied it to his 
tongue, in a manner perfectly natural, but one that 
filled his companion with alarm. Without, however, 
observing that the quaUty was of the most approved 
kind, the traveller relieved his host b}^ relapsing again 
into his meditations. Mr. Wharton now felt unwilling 
to lose the advantage he had gained, and, making an 
effort of more than usual vigor, he continued, — 

" I wish, from the bottom of my heart, this un- 
natural struggle was over, that Ave might again meet 
our friends and relatives in peace and love." 

'* It is much to be desired," said Harper, emphat- 
ically, again raising his eyes to the countenance of his 
host. 

" I hear of no movement of consequence, since the 
arrival of our new allies," said Mr. Wharton, shaking 
the ashes from his pipe, and turning his back to the 
other, under the pretense of receiving a coal from his 
youngest daughter. 

"None have yet reached the public, I believe." 

" Is it thought any important steps are about to be 
taken ?" continued Mr. Wharton, still occupied with 
his daughter, yet unconsciously suspending his employ- 
ment, in expectation of a reply. 

" Is it intimated any are in agitation ? " 

" Oh ! nothing in particular ; but it is natural to 
expect some new enterprise from so powerful a force 
as that under Rochambeau." 



10 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

Harper made an assenting inclination with his head, 
but no other reply, to this remark ; while Mr. Whar- 
ton, after lighting his pipe, resumed the subject. 

" They appear more active in the south ; Gates and 
Cornwallis seem willing to bring the war to an issue 
there." 

The brow of Harper contracted, and a deeper shade 
of melancholy crossed his features ; his ej^e kindled 
with a transient beam of fire, that spoke a latent 
source of deep feeling. The admiring gaze of the 
younger of the sisters had barely time to read its ex- 
pression, before it passed away, leaving in its room the 
acquired composure which marked the countenance of 
the stranger, and that impressive dignity which so con- 
spicuously denotes the empire of reason. 

Mr. Wharton had in vain endeavored to pierce the 
disguise of his guest's political feelings ; but, while 
there was nothing forbidding in his countenance, there 
was nothing communicative ; on the contrary it was 
strikingly reserved ; and the master of the house arose, 
in profound ignorance of what, in those days, was 
the most material point in the character of his guest, 
to lead the way into another room, and to the supper 
table. 

The storm began to rage with great violence with- 
out ; and the dashing rain on the sides of the building 
awakened that silent sense of enjoyment, which is ex- 
cited by such sounds in a room of quiet comfort and 
warmth, when a loud summons at the outer door again 
called the faithful black to the portal. In a minute 
the servant returned, and informed his master that an- 



THE SPY. 11 

other traveller, overtaken bj^ the storm, desired to be 
admitted to the house for a shelter through the night. 

At the first sounds of the impatient summons of 
this new applicant, Mr. Wharton had risen from his 
seat in evident uneasiness ; and with eyes glancing 
with quickness from his guest to the door of the room, 
he seemed to be expecting something to proceed from 
this second interruption, connected with the stranger 
who had occasioned the first. He scarcely had time 
to bid the black, with a faint voice, to show this sec- 
ond comer in, before the door was thrown hastily open, 
and the stranger himself entered the apartment. He 
paused a moment, as the person of Harper met his 
view, and then, in a moi-e formal manner, repeated the 
request he had before made through the servant. Mr. 
Wharton and his family disliked the appearance of 
this new visitor excessively ; but the inclemency of 
the weather, and the uncertainty of the consequences, 
if he were refused the desired lodgings, compelled the 
old gentleman to give a reluctant acquiescence. 

Some of the dishes were replaced by the orders of 
Miss Peyton, and the weatlier-beaten intruder was in- 
vited to partake of the remains of the repast, from 
which the party had just risen. Throwing aside a 
rough great- coat, he very composedly took the offered 
chair, and unceremoniously proceeded to allay the 
cravings of an appetite which appeared by no means 
delicate. But at every mouthful he would turn an 
unquiet eye on Harper, who studied his appearance 
with a closeness of investigation that was very embar- 
rassing to its subject. At length, pouring ont a glass 



12 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

of wine, the new comer nodded significantly to his ex- 
aminer, previously to swallowing the liquor, and said, 
with something of bitterness in his manner, — 

" I drink to our better acquaintance, sir ; I believe 
this is the first time we have met, though your atten- 
tion would seem to say otherwise." 

The quality of the wine seemed greatly to his fancy, 
for, on replacing the glass upon the table, he gave his 
lips a smack that resounded through the room ; and, 
taking up the bottle, he held it between himself and 
the light, for a moment, in silent contemplation of 
its clear and brilliant color. 

" I think we have never met before, sir," replied 
Harper with a slight smile on his features, as he ob- 
served the movements of the other ; but appearing 
satisfied with his scrutiny, he turned to Sarah Whar- 
ton, who sat next him, and carelessly remarked, — 

" You doubtless find your present abode solitary, 
after being accustomed to the gayeties of the city." - 

" Oh ! excessively so," said Sarah hastily. " 1 do 
wish, with my father, that this cruel war was at an 
end, that we might return to our friends once more." 

"And you, Miss Frances, do you long as ardently 
for peace as your sister? " 

" On many accounts I certainly do," returned the 
other, venturing to steal a timid glance at her inter- 
rogator ; and, meeting the same benevolent expression 
of feeling as before, she continued, as her own face 
lighted into one of its animated and bright smiles of 
intelligence, " but not at the expense of the rights of 
my countrymen." 



THE SPY. 13 

Harper, rising, desired to be shown to his place of 
rest. A small boy was directed to guide him to his 
room ; and wishing a coui-teous good night to the 
whole party, the traveller withdrew. The knife and 
fork fell from the hands of the unwelcome intruder, 
as the door closed on the retiring figure of Harper ; 
he arose slowly from his seat ; listening attentively, 
he approached the door of the room — opened it — 
seemed to attend to the retreating footsteps of the 
other — and, amidst the panic and astonishment of his 
companions, he closed it again. In an instant, the red 
wig which concealed his black locks, the large patch 
which hid half his face from observation, the stoop 
that had made him appear fifty years of age, disap- 
peared. 

" My father ! — my dear father ! " — cried the hand- 
some young man; "and you, my dearest sisters and 
aunt ! — have I at last met you again ? " 

" Heaven bless you, my Henry, my son !" ex- 
claimed the astonished but delighted parent ; while 
his sisters sunk on his shoulders, dissolved in tears. 

The faithful old black, who had been reared from 
infancy in the house of his master, and who, as if in 
mockery of his degraded state, had been complimented 
with the name of Ciesar, was the only other witness 
of this unexpected discovery of tlie son of Mr. Whar- 
ton. After receiving the extended hand of his young 
master, and imprinting on it a fervent kiss, Csesar 
withdrew. 



14 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 



CHAPTER II. 

'T was when the fields were swept of Autumn's store 
And growling winds the fading foliage tore, 
Behind the Lowmou hill, the short-lived light, 
Descending slowly, ushered in the night ; 
When from the noisy town, with mournful look, 
His lonely way the meagre pedler took. 

Wl LSON. 

A STORM below the highlands of the Hudson, if it 
be introduced with an easterly wind, seldom lasts less 
than two days. Accordingly, as the inmates of the 
Locusts assembled, on the following morning, around 
their early breakfast, the driving rain was seen to 
strike in nearly horizontal lines against the windows 
of the building, and forbade the idea of exposing 
either man or beast to the tempest. Harper was the 
last to appear : after taking a view of the state of the 
weather, he apologized to Mr. Wharton for the neces- 
sity that existed for his trespassing on his goodness 
for a longer time. To appearances, the reply was as 
courteous as the excuse ; yet Harper wore a resigna- 
tion in his deportment that was widely different from 
the uneasy manner of the father. Henry Wharton 
had resumed his disguise with a reluctance amounting 
to disgust, but in obedience to the commands of his 
parent. No communications passed between him and 
the stranger after the first salutations of the morning 
had been paid by Harjier to him, in common with the 
rest of the family. Frances had, indeed, thought 
there was something like a smile passing over the 



THE SPY. 15 

features of the traveller, when, on entering the room, 
he first confronted her brother ; but it was confined to 
the eyes, seeming to want power to affect the muscles 
of the face, and was soon lost in the settled and be- 
nevolent expression which reigned in his counteuance, 
with a sway but seldom interrupted. The eyes of the 
affectionate sister were turned in anxiety, for a mo- 
ment, on her brother, and glancing again on their un- 
known guest, met his look, as he offered her, with 
marked attention, one of the little civilities of the 
table ; and the heart of the girl, which had begun to 
throb with violence, regained a pulsation as tempered 
as youth, health, and buoyant spirits could allow. 
While yet seated at the table, Cajsar entered, and lay- 
ing a small parcel in silence by the side of his master, 
modestly retired behind his chair, where, placing one 
hand on its back, he continued in an attitude half 
familiar, half respectful, a listener. 

" What is this, Ca3sar ? " inquired Mr. Wharton, 
turning the bundle over to examine its envelope, and 
eying it rather suspiciously. 

" The 'baccy, sir ; Harvey Birch, he got home, and 
he bring you a little good 'baccy from York." 

" Harvey Birch ! " rejoined the master with great 
deliberation, stealing a look at his guest. " I do not 
remember desiring him to purchase any tobacco for 
me ; but as he has brought it, he must be paid for his 
trouble." 

For an instant only, as the negro spoke, did Harper 
suspend his silent meal ; his eye moved slowly from 
the servant to the master, and again all remained in 
impenetrable reserve. 



16 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

To Sarah Wharton, this intelligence gave nnex- 
pected pleasure ; rising from her seat with impatience, 
she bade the black show Birch into the apartment ; 
when suddenly recollecting herself, she turned to the 
traveller with an apologizing look, and added, " If Mr. 
Harper will excuse the presence of a pedler." 

The indulgent benevolence expressed in the counte- 
nance of the stranger, as he bowed a silent acquies- 
cence, spoke more eloquently than the nicest framed 
period, and. the young lady repeated her order, with 
a confidence in its truth that removed all embarrass- 
ment. 

In the deep recesses of the windows of the cottage 
were seats of panelled work ; and the rich damask 
curtains that had ornamented the parlor in Queen 
Street ^ had been transferred to the Locusts, and gave 
to the room that indescribable air of comfort which 
so gratefully announces the approach of a domestic 
winter. Into one of these recesses Captain Wharton 
now threw himself, drawing the curtain before him in 
such a manner as to conceal most of his person from 
observation ; while his youngest sister, losing her nat- 
ural frankness of manner, in an air of artificial con- 
straint, silently took possession of the other. 

Harvey Birch had been a pedler from his youth ; 
at least so he frequently asserted, and his skill in the 

1 The Americans changed the names of many towns and streets at 
the Revolution. Thus, in the city of New York Crown Street has 
become Liberty Street ; King Street, Pine Street ; and Queen Street, 
then one of the most fashionable quarters of the town, Pearl Street. 
Pearl Street is now chiefly occupied by the auction dealers, and the 
wholesale dry-goods merchants, for warehouses and counting-rooms. 



THE SPY. 17 

occupation went fai' to prove the truth of the declara- 
tion. He was a native of one of the eastern colonies ; 
and, from something of superior intelligence which be- 
longed to his father, it was thought they had known 
better fortunes in the land of their nativity. Harvey 
possessed, however, the common manners of the coun- 
try, and was in no way distinguished from men of his 
class but by his acuteness, and the mystery which en- 
veloped his movements. Ten years before, they had 
arrived together in the vale, and, purchasing a hum- 
ble dwelling, continued ever since peaceful inhabit- 
ants, but little noticed and but little known. Until 
age and infirmities had prevented, the father devoted 
himself to the cultivation of the small spot of ground 
belonging to his purchase, while the son pursued with 
avidity his humble barter. 

The war did not interfere with the traffic of the 
pedler, who seized on the golden opportunity which 
the interruption of the regular trade afforded, and 
appeared absorbed in the one grand object of amass- 
ing money. For a year or two his employment was 
uninterrupted, and his success proportionate ; but, at 
length, dark and threatening hints began to thi-ow 
suspicion around his movements, and the civil author- 
ities thought it incumbent on them to examine nar- 
rowly into his mode of life. His imprisonments, 
though frequent, were not long ; and his escapes from 
the guardians of the law easy, compared to what he 
endured from the persecutions of the military. Still 
Birch survived, and still he continued his trade, though 
compelled to be very guarded in his movements, es- 
2 



18 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

pecially whenever he approached the northern boun- 
daries of the county ; or, in other words, the neigh- 
borhood of the American hnes. Nothing, however, 
seemed to interfere with the pursuits of this indefat- 
igable trader, who, with a view to dispose of certain 
articles for which he could only find purchasers in the 
very wealthiest families of the county, had now braved 
the fury of the tempest, and ventured to cross the 
half mile between his own residence and the house of 
M\\ Wharton. 

In a few minutes after receiving the commands of 
his young mistress, Ca3sar reappeared, ushering into 
the apartment the subject of the foregoing digression. 
In person, the pedler was a man above the middle 
height, spare, but full of bone and muscle. At first 
sight, his strength seemed unequal to manage the un- 
wieldy burden of his pack ; yet he threw it on and off 
with great dexterity, and with as much apparent ease 
as if it had been filled with feathers. His eyes were 
gray, sunken, restless, and, for the flitting moments 
that they dwelt on the countenances of those with 
whom he conversed, they seemed to read the very soul. 
They possessed, however, two distinct expressions, 
which, in a great measure, characterized the whole 
man. When engaged in traffic, the intelligence of 
his face appeared lively, active, and flexible, though 
uncommonly acute ; if the conversation turned on the 
ordinary transactions of life, his air became abstracted 
and restless ; but if, by chance, the Revolution and 
the country were the topic, his whole system seemed 
altered — all his faculties were concentrated : he would 



THE SPY. 19 

listen for a great length of time, without speaking, 
and then would break silence by some light and jocu- 
lar remark, that was too much at variance with his 
former manner not to be affectation. But of the war, 
and of his father, he seldom spoke, and always from 
some very obvious necessity. 

To a superficial observer, avarice would seem his 
ruling passion. On entering the room, the pedler re- 
lieved himself from his burden, which, as it stood on 
the floor, reached nearly to his shoulders, and saluted 
the family with modest civilit3\ To Harper he made 
a silent bow, without lifting his eyes from the carpet : 
but the curtain prevented any notice of the presence 
of Captain Wharton. Sarah gave but little time for 
the usual salutations, before she commenced her sur- 
vey of the contents of the pack ; and, for several min- 
utes, the two were engaged in bringing to light the 
various articles it contained. The tables, chairs, and 
floor were soon covered with silks, crapes, gloves, 
muslins, and all the stock of an itinerant trader. Cse- 
sar was employed to hold open the mouth of the pack, 
as its hoards were discharged, and occasionally he 
aided his young lady, by directing her admiration to 
some article of finery, which, from its deeper contrast 
in colors, he thought more worth}^ of her notice. At 
length Sarah, having selected several articles and sat- 
isfactorily arranged the prices, observed in a cheerful 
voice, — 

" But, Harvey, you have told us no news. Has 
Lord Cornwallis beaten the rebels again ? " 

The question could not have been heard ; for the 



20 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

pedler, burying his body in the pack, brought forth 
a quantity of lace of exquisite fineness, and, holding it 
up to view, he required the admiration of the young 
lady. Miss Peyton dropped the cup she was engaged 
in washing from her hand ; and Frances exhibited the 
whole of that lovely face, which had hitherto only 
suffered one of its joyous eyes to be seen, beaming 
with a color that shamed the damask which enviously 
concealed her figure. 

The aunt quitted her employment ; and Birch soon 
disposed of a large portion of this valuable article. 
The praises of the ladies had drawn the whole person 
of the younger sister into view ; and Frances was 
slowly rising from the window, as Sarah repeated her 
question, with an exultation in her voice, that pro- 
ceeded more from pleasure in her purchase than her 
political feelings. The younger sister resumed her 
seat, apparently examining the state of the clouds, 
while the pedler, finding a reply was expected, an- 
swered slowly, — 

" There is some talk, below, about Tarleton having 
defeated General Sumter, on the Tiger River." 

Captain Wharton now involuntarily thrust his head 
between the opening of the curtains into the room ; 
and Frances, turning her ear in breathless silence, no- 
ticed the quiet eyes of Harper looking at the pedler, 
over the book he was affecting to read, with an ex- 
pression that denoted him to be a listener of no ordi- 
nary interest. 

" They say, however, at the Plains," the pedler 
continued, first throwing his eyes again around the 



THE SPY. 21 

room, and letting them rest for an instant on Harper, 
" that Sumter and one or two more were all that 
were hurt, and that the rig'Iars were all cut to pieces, 
for the militia were fixed snugly in a log barn." 

" Not very probable," said Sarah, contemptuousl}', 
" though I make no doubt the rebels got behiud the 
logs." 

" I think," said the pedler coolly, again offering the 
silk, " it 's quite ingenious to get a log between one 
and a gun, instead of getting between a gun and a 

log." 

" Have you any other news, friend ? " asked Cap- 
tain Wharton, venturing to thrust his face without 
the curtains again. 

" Have you heard that Major Andre has been 
hanged ? " 

Captain Wharton started, and for a moment glances 
of great significance were exchanged between him and 
the trader, when he observed, with affected indiffer- 
ence, " That must have been some weeks ago." 

" Does his execution make much noise ? " asked the 
father. 

" People will talk, you know, 'squire." 

"Is there any probability of movements below, my 
friend, that will make travelling dangerous?" asked 
Harper, looking steadily at the other, in expectation 
of his reply. 

Some bunches of ribbons fell from the hands of 
Birch ; his countenance changed instantly, losing its 
keen expression in intent meaning, as he answered 
slowly, " It is some time since the rig'lar cavalry 



22 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

were out, and I saw some of De Lancey's men clean- 
ing their arms, as I passed their quarters ; it would be 
no wonder if they took the scent soon, for the Vir- 
ginia horse are low in the county." 



CHAPTER IV. 

" It is the form, the eye, the word, 

The bearing of that stranger lord, 

His stature mauly, bold, and tall, 

Built like a castle's battled wall, 

Yet moulded in such just degrees 

His giant strength seems lightsome ease. 

Weather and war their rougher trace 

Have left on that majestic face ; 

But 't is his dignity of eye ! 

There, if a suppliant, would I fly, 

Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief, 

Of sympathy, redress, relief — 

That glance, if guilty, would I dread 

More than the doom that spoke me dead." 
"Enough, enough ! " the princess cried, 
" 'T is Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride ! " 

Walter Scott. 

The party sat in silence for many minutes after 
the pedler had withdrawn. Mr. Wharton had heard 
enough to increase his uneasiness, without in the least 
removing his apprehensions on behalf of his son. The 
captain was impatiently wishing Harper in any other 
place than the one he occupied with such apparent 
composure, while Miss Peyton completed the disposal 
of her breakfast equipage, with the mild complacency 



THE SPY. 23 

of her nature, aided a little by an inward satisfaction 
at possessing so large a portion of the trader's lace ; 
Sarah was busily occupied in arranging her purchases, 
and Frances was kindly assisting in the occupation, 
disregarding her own neglected bargains, when the 
stranger suddenly broke the silence by saying, — 

" If any apprehensions of me induce Captain Whar- 
ton to maintain his disguise, I wish him to be unde- 
ceived ; had I motives for betraying him, they could 
not operate under present circumstances." 

The younger sister sank into her seat colorless and 
astonished. Miss Peyton dropped the tea-tray she 
was lifting from the table, and Sarah sat with her 
purchases unheeded in her lap, in speechless surprise. 
Mr. Wharton was stupefied ; but the captain, hesitat- 
ing a moment from astonishment, sprang into the 
middle of the room, and exclaimed, as he tore off the 
instruments of his. disguise, — 

" I believe 3'ou from my soul, and this tiresome im- 
position shall continue no longer. Yet T am at a loss 
to conceive in what manner you should know me." 

" You really look so much better in your proper 
person. Captain Wharton," said Harper, with a slight 
smile, " I would advise you never to conceal it in 
future. There is enough to betray you, if other 
souiTcs of detection were wanting ; " as he spoke, he 
pointed to a picture suspended over the mantelpiece, 
which exhibited the British officer in his regimentals. 

" I had flattered myself," cried young Wharton, with 
■ a laugh, " that I looked better on the canvas than in a 
masquerade. You must be a close observer, sir." 



24 J. FENIMOnE COOPER. 

" Necessity has made me one," said Harper, rising 
from his seat. 

Frances met him as he was about to withdraw, and, 
taking his hand between both her own, said with ear- 
nestness, her cheeks mantling with their richest ver- 
mihon, " You cannot — you will not betray my 
brother." 

For an instant Harper paused in silent admiration 
of the lovely pleader, and then, folding her hands on 
his breast, he replied solemnly, " I cannot, and I will 
not ! " he released her hands, and laying his own on 
her head gently, continued, " If the blessing of a 
stranger can profit you, receive it." He turned, and, 
bowing low, retired, with a delicacy that was duly ap- 
preciated by those he quitted, to his own apartment. 

On the afternoon of the succeeding day, the party 
were assembled in the parlor around the tea-table of 
Miss Peyton, when a change in the weather occurred. 
The thin scud., that apparently floated but a short dis- 
tance above the tops of the hills, began to drive from 
the west towards the east in astonishing rapidity. The 
rain yet continued to beat against the eastern windows 
of the house with fury ; in that direction the heavens 
were dark and gloomy. Frances was gazing at the 
scene with the desire of youth to escape from the 
tedium of confinement, when, as if by magic, all was 
still. The rushing winds had ceased, the pelting of 
the storm was over, and, springing to the window, 
with delight pictured in her face, she saw a glorious 
ray of sunshine lighting the opposite wood. The foli- 
age glittered with the checkered beauties of the Octo- 



THE SPY. 25 

ber leaf, reflecting back from the moistened boughs 
the richest kistre of an American autumn. In an in- 
stant, the piazza, which opened to the south, was 
thronged with the inmates of the cottage. The air 
was mild, bahny, and refreshing ; in the east, clouds, 
which might be likened to the retreating masses of a 
discomfited army, hung around the horizon in awful 
and increasing darkness. At a little elevation above 
the cottage, the thin vapor was still rushing towards 
the east with amazing velocity ; while in the west the 
sun had broken forth and shed his parting radiance on 
the scene below, aided by the fullest richness of a clear 
atmosphere and a freshened herbage. Such moments 
belong only to the climate of America, and are enjoyed 
in a degree proportioned to the suddenness of the con- 
trast, and the pleasure we experience in escaping from 
the turbulence of the elements to the quiet of a peace- 
ful evening, and an air still as the softest mornings in 
June. 

" What a magnificent scene ! " said Harper, in a 
low tone ; " how grand ! how awfully sublime ! — 
may such a quiet speedily await the struggle in which 
my country is engaged, and such a glorious evening 
follow the day of her adversity ! " 

Frances, who stood next to him, alone heard the 
voice. Turning in amazement from the view to the 
speaker, she saw him standing bareheaded, erect, and 
with his e^^es lifted to heaven. There was no longer 
the quiet which had seemed their characteristic, but 
they were lighted into something like enthusiasm, and 
a slight flush passed over his features. 



26 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

There can be no danger apprehended from sucli a 
man, thought Frances ; such feelings belong only to 
the virtuous. 

The musings of the party were now interrupted by 
the sudden appearance of the pedler. He had taken 
advantage of the first gleam of sunshine to hasten to 
the cottage. Heedless of wet or dry as it lay in his 
path, with arms swinging to and fro, and with his 
head bent forward of his body several inches, Harvey 
Birch approached the piazza, with a gait peculiarly his 
own. It was the quick, lengthened pace of an itiner- 
ant vender of goods. 

" Fine evening," said the pedler, saluting the party, 
without raising his eyes : "quite warm and agreeable 
for the season." 

The valley in which the residence of Mr. Wharton 
stood ran in a direction from northwest to southeast, 
and the house was placed on the side of a hill which 
terminated its length in the former direction. A- 
small opening, occasioned by the receding of the op- 
posite hill, and the fall of the land to the level of the 
tide water, afforded a view of the Sound over the tops 
of the distant woods on its margin. The surface of 
the water, which had so lately been lashing the shores 
with boisterous fury, was already losing its ruffled 
darkness in the long and regular undulations that suc- 
ceeded a tempest, while the light air from the south- 
west was gently touching their summits, lending its 
feeble aid in stilling the waters. Some dark spots 
were now to be distinguished, occasionally rising into 
view, and again sinking behind the lengthened waves 



THE SPY. 27 

which interposed themselves to tlie sight. They were 
unnoticed by all but the pedler. He had seated him- 
self on the piazza, at a distance from Harper, and 
appeared to have forgotten the object of his visit. His 
roving eye, however, soon caught a glhnpse of these 
new objects in tlie view, and he sprang up with alac- 
rity, gazing intently towards the water. He changed 
his place, glanced his eye with marked uneasiness on 
Harper, and then said with great emphasis, — 

" The riglars must be out from below." 

"Why do you think so?" inquired Captain Whar- 
ton, eagerly, " God send it may be true ; I want 
their escort in again." 

"Them ten whaleboats would not move so fast un- 
less they were better manned than common." 

" Perhaps," cried Mr. Wharton in alarm, " they are 
— they are continentals returning from the island." 

" They look like rig'lars," said the pedler, with 
meaning." 

" Look ! " repeated the captain, " there is nothing 
but spots to be seen." 

Harvey disregarded his observation, but seemed to 
be soliloquizing as he said in an undertone, " They 
came out before the gale — have laid on the island 
these two days — horse are on the road — there will 
soon be fighting near us." During this speech. Birch 
several times glanced his eye towards Harper, with 
evident uneasiness, but no corresponding emotion be- 
trayed any interest of that gentleman in the scene. 
He stood in silent contemplation of the view, and 
seemed enjoying the change in the air. As Birch 



28 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

concluded, however, Harper turned to liis host, and 
mentioned that his business would not admit of un- 
necessary delay; he would, therefore, avail himself of 
the fine evening to ride a few miles on his journey. 
Mr. Wharton made many professions of regret at los- 
ing so agreeable an inmate ; but was too mindful of 
his duty not to speed the parting guest, and orders 
were instantly given to that effect. 

The uneasiness of the pedler increased in a manner 
for which nothing apparent could account ; his eye 
was constantly wandering towards the lower end of 
the vale, as if in expectation of some interruption 
from that quarter. At length Ca'sar appeared, lead- 
ing the noble beast which was to bear tlie weight of 
the traveller. The pedler officiously assisted to tighten 
the girths, and fasten the blue cloak and valise to the 
mail-straps. 

Every preparation being completed, Harper pro- 
ceeded to take his leave. To Sarah and her aunt he 
paid his compliments with ease and kindness ; but 
when he came to Frances, he paused a moment, while 
his face assumed an expression of more than ordinary 
benignity. His eye repeated the blessing which had 
before fallen from his lips, and the girl felt her cheeks 
glow, and her heart beat with a quicker pulsation, as 
he spoke his adieus. There was a mutual exchange 
of polite courtesy between the host and his parting 
guest ; but as Harper frankly offered his hand to Cap- 
tain Wharton, he remarked, in a manner of great so- 
lemnity, — 

" The step you have undertaken is one of much 



THE SPY. 29 

danger, and disagreeable consequences to yourself may 
result from it ; in such a case, I may have it in my 
power to prove the gratitude I owe your family for its 
kindness." 

" Surely, sir," cried the father, losing sight of deli- 
cacy in apprehension for his child, " you will keep 
secret the discovery Avhich your being in my house has 
enabled you to make ? " 

Harper turned quickly to the speaker, and then, 
losing the sternness which had begun to gather on his 
countenance, he answered mildly, " I have learnt noth- 
ing in your faniil}', sir, of which I was ignorant before ; 
but your son is safer from my knowledge of his visit 
than he would be without it." 

He bowed to the whole party, and without taking 
any notice of the pedler, other than by simply thank- 
ing him for his attentions, mounted his horse, and, rid- 
ing steadily and gracefully through the little gate, was 
soon lost behind the hill which sheltered the valley to 
the northward. 

The eyes of the pedler followed the retiring figure 
of the horseman so long as it continued within view, 
and as it disappeared from his sight, he drew a long 
and heavy sigh, as if relieved from a load of apprehen- 
sion. The Whartons had meditated in silence on the 
character and visit of their unknown guest for the 
same period, when the father approached Birch, and 
observed, — 

" I aui yet your debtor, Harvey, for the tobacco you 
were so kind as to bring me from the city." 

" If it should not prove so good as the first," replied 



30 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

the pedler, fixing a last and lingering look in the di- 
rection of Harper's route, " it is owing to the scarcity 
of the article." 

" I like it much," continued the other : " but you 
have forgotten to name the price." 

The countenance of the trader changed, and losing 
its expression of deep care in a natural acuteness, he 
answered, — 

" It is hard to say what ought to be the price : I 
believe I must leave it to your own generosity." 

Mr. Wharton had taken a hand well filled with the 
images of Carolus III.^ from his pocket, and now ex- 
tended it toAvards Birch with three of the pieces be- 
tween his finger and thumb. Harvey's eyes twinkled 
as he contemplated the reward; and rolling over in 
his mouth a large quantity of the article in question, 
coolly stretched forth his hand, into which the dollars 
fell with a most agreeable sound ; but not satisfied 
with the transient music of their fall, the pedler gave 
each piece in succession a ring on the stepping-stone 
of the piazza, before he consigned it to the safe keep- 
ing of a huge deerskin purse, -which vanished from the 
sight of the spectators so dexterously, that not one of 
them could have told about what part of his person it 
was secreted. 

This very material point in his business so satisfac- 
torily completed, the pedler rose from his seat on the 
floor of the piazza, and approached to where Captain 
Wharton stood, supporting his sisters on either arm, 
as they listened with the lively interest of affection to 
his conversation. 

1 Of Spain. 



THE SPY. 31 

The agitation of the preceding incidents had caused 
such an expenditure of the juices which had become 
necessary to the mouth of the pedler, that a new sup- 
ply of the weed was required before he could turn his 
attention to business of lesser moment. This done, he 
asked abruptly, — 

" Captain Wharton, do you go in to-night? " 

" No ! " said the captain, laconically, and looking at 
his lovely burdens with great affection. " Mr. Birch, 
would you have me leave such company so soon, when 
I may never enjoy it again ? " 

" Brother ! " said Frances, " jesting on such a sub- 
ject is cruel." 

"I rather guess," continued the pedler, coolly, 
" now the storm is over, the Skinners ^ may be mov- 
ing ; you had better shorten your visit. Captain Whar- 
ton." 

" Oh ! " cried the British officer, " a few guineas 
will buy off those rascals at any time, should I meet 
them. No, no, Mr. Birch, here I stay until morning." 

" Money could not liberate Major Andre," said the 
pedler, dryly. 

1 American militia " of extremely irregular habits." 



32 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

CHAPTER IX. 

A momeut gazed adown the dale, 
A momeut snuffed tlie taiutod gale, 
A moment listened to the cry, 
That thickened as the chase drew nigh ; 
Then, as the headmost foe appeared, • 
With one brave bound the copse he cleared, 
And, stretching forward free and far, 
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

Lady of the Lake. 

The gathering mists of the evening had begun to 
darken the valley, as the detachment of Lawton^ 
made its reappearance, at its southern extremity. 
The march of the troops was slow, and their line 
extended, for the benefit of ease. In the front rode 
the captain, side by side with his senior subaltern, ap- 
parently engaged in close conference, while the rear 
was brought up by a young cornet, humming an air, 
and thinking of the sweets of a straw bed after the 
fatigues of a hard day's duty. 

" Then it struck you too ? " said the captain. " The 
instant I placed my eyes on hei', I remembered the 
face ; it is one not easily forgotten. By my faith, 
Tom, the girl does no discredit to the major's taste." 

'' She would do honor to the corps," replied the lieu- 
tenant, with some warmth ; " those blue eyes might 
easily win a man to gentler employments than this 
trade of ours. In sober truth, I can easily imagine 
such a girl might tempt even me to quit the broad- 
sword and saddle for a darning needle and pillion." 
1 Captain of Virginia dragoons. 



THE SPY. 33 

" Mutiny, sir, mutiny," cried the other, laughing ; 
" wha.t you, Tom Mason, dare to rival the gay, ad- 
mired, and withal rich, IMajor Dunwoodie ^ in his love ! 
You, a lieutenant of cavalry, with but one horse, and 
he none of the best ! whose captain is as tough as a 
pepperidge log, and has as many lives as a cat ! " 

" Faith," said the subaltern, smiling in his turn, 
" the log may yet be split, and Grimalkin lose his 
lives, if you often charge as madly as you did this 
morning. What think you of many raps from such 
a beetle as laid you on your back to-day ? " 

" Ah ! don't mention it, my good Tom ; the thought 
makes my head ache," replied the other, shrugging 
up his shoulders ; " it is what I call forestalling 
night." 

" The night of death ? " 

" No, sir, the night that follows day. I saw myr- 
iads of stars, things which should hide their faces in 
the presence of the lordly sun. I do think nothing 
but this thick cap saved me for your comfort a little 
longer, maugre the cat's lives." 

" I have much reason to be obliged to the cap," said 
Mason, dryly ; " that or the skull must have had a 
reasonable portion of thickness, I admit." 

" Well, Tom, a slanderous propensity is incurable 
— but," stretching forward his body in the direction 
he was gazing, as if to aid him in distinguishing ob- 
jects through the darkness, " what animal is moving 
through the field on our right ? " 

1 Major of Virginia dragoons, and betrothed to Frances Wharton. 
3 



34 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" 'T is a man," said Mason, looking intently at the 
suspicious object. 

" By his hump 't is a dromedary ! " added the cap- 
tain, eying it keenly. Wheeling his horse suddenly 
from the highway, he exclaimed, " Harvey Birch ! — 
take him, dead or alive ! " 

Mason and a few of the leading dragoons only un- 
derstood the sudden cry, but it was heard throughout 
the line. A dozen of the men, with the lieutenant 
at their head, followed the impetuous Lawton, and 
their speed threatened the pursued with a sudden ter- 
mination of the race. 

Birch had seen all the events of the day as they 
occurred. He had watched, with a beating heart, the 
departure of the troops under Dunwoodie, and with 
difhculty had curbed his impatience until the obscur- 
ity of night should render his moving free from dan- 
ger. He had not, however, completed a fourth of his 
way to his own residence, when his quick ear distin- 
guished the tread of the approaching horse. Trusting 
to the increasing darkness, he determined to perse- 
vere. By crouching and moving quickly along the 
sui'face of the ground, he hoped yet to escape unseen. 
Captain Lawton was too much engrossed with the 
foregoing conversation to suffer his eyes to indulge in 
their usual wandering ; and the pedler, perceiving by 
the voices that tlie enemy he most feared had passed, 
yielded to his impatience, and stood erect, in order 
to make greater progress. The moment his body 
arose above the shadow of the ground, it was seen, 
and the chase commenced. For a single instant 



THE SPY. 35 

Bircli was helpless, his blood curdling in his veins at 
the imminence of the danger, and his legs refusing 
their natural and necessary office. But it was only 
for a moment. Casting his pack where he stood, and 
instinctively tightening the belt he wore, the pedler 
betook himself to flight. He knew that by bring- 
ing himself in a line with his pursuers and the wood, 
his form would be lost to sight. This he soon effected, 
and he was straining every nerve to gain the wood 
itself, when several horsemen rode by him but a short 
distance on his left, and cut him off from this place of 
refuge. The pedler threw himself on the ground as 
they came near him, and was passed unseen. But 
delay now became too dangerous for him to remain in 
that position. He accordingly arose, and still keeping 
in the shadow of tlie wood, along the skirts of which 
he heard voices crying to each other to be watchful, 
he ran with incredible speed in a parallel line, but in 
an opposite direction, to the march of the dragoons. 
The confusion of the chase had been heard by the 
whole of the men, though none distinctl}^ understood 
the order of Lawton but those who followed. The 
remainder were lost in doubt as to the duty that was 
required of them ; and the aforesaid cornet was mak- 
ing eager inquiries of the trooper near him on the 
subject, when a man, at a short distance in his rear, 
crossed the road at a single bound. At the same in- 
stant, the stentorian voice of Lawton rang through 
the valley, shouting, — 

" Harvey Birch — take him, dead or alive ! " 
Fifty pistols lighted the scene, and the bullets whis- 



36 /. FENUrORE COOPER. 

tied in every direction round the head of the devoted 
pedler. A feeling of despair seized his heart, and iu 
the bitterness of the moment he exclaimed, — 

" Hunted like a beast of the forest ! " 

He felt life and its accompaniments to be a burden, 
and was about to yield himself to his enemies. Nat- 
ure, however, prevailed. If taken, there was great 
reason to apprehend that he would not be honored 
with the forms of a trial, but that most probably the 
morning sun would witness his ignominious execution ; 
for he had alread}^ been condemned to death, and had 
only escaped that fate by stratagem. These consider- 
ations, with the approaching footsteps of his pursuers, 
roused him to new exertions. He again fled before 
them. A fragment of a wall, that had withstood the 
ravages made by war in the adjoining fences of wood, 
fortunately crossed his path. He hardly had time to 
throw his exhausted limbs over this barrier, before 
twenty of his enemies reached its opposite side. 
Their horses refused to take the leap in the dark, and 
amid the confusion of the rearing chargers, and the 
execrations of their riders. Birch was enabled to gain a 
sight of the base of the hill, on whose summit was a 
place of perfect security. The heart of the pedler now 
beat high with hope, when the voice of Captain Law- 
ton again rang in his ears, shouting to his men to make 
room. The order was obeyed, and the fearless trooper 
rode at the wall at the top of his horse's speed, plunged 
the rowels in his charger, and flew over the obstacle 
in safety. The triumphant hurrahs of the men, and 
the thundering tread of the horse, too plainly assured 



THE SPY. 37 

the pedler of the emergency of his danger. He was 
nearly exhausted, and his fate no longer seemed doubt- 
ful. 

" Stoj), or die ! " was uttered above his head, and in 
fearful proximity to his ears. 

Harvey stole a glance over his shoulder, and saw, 
within a bound of him, the man he most dreaded. 
By the light of the stars he beheld the uplifted arm 
and the threatening sabre. Fear, exhaustion, and de- 
spair, seized his heart, and the intended victim fell at 
the feet of the dragoon. The horse of Lawton struck 
the prostrate pedler, and both steed and rider came 
violently to the earth. 

As quick as thought. Birch was on his feet again, 
with the sword of the discomfited di^agoon in his hand. 
Vengeance seems but too natural to human passions. 
There are few who have not felt the seductive pleas- 
ure of making our injuries recoil on their authors ; and 
yet there are some who know how much sweeter it is 
to return good for evil. 

All the wrongs of the pedler shone on his brain 
with a dazzling brightness. For a moment the demon 
within him prevailed, and Birch brandished the power- 
ful weapon in the air ; in the next, it fell harmless on 
the reviving but helpless trooper. The pedler van- 
ished up the side of the friendly rock. 

" Help Captain Lawton, there ! " cried Mason, as 
he rode up, followed by a dozen of his men ; " and 
some of you dismount with me, and search these 
rocks ; the villain lies here concealed." 

"Hold!" roared the discomfited captain, raising 



38 .7. FENIMORE COOPER. 

himself with difficulty on his feet ; if one of you dis- 
mount, he dies. Tom, my good fellow, you will help 
me to straddle Roanoke again." 

The astonished subaltern complied in silence, while 
the wondering dragoons remained as fixed in their 
saddles as if they composed part of the animals they 
rode. 

" You are much hurt, I fear," said Mason, with 
something of condolence in his manner, as they reen- 
tered the highway. 

" Something so, I do believe," replied the captain, 
catching his breath, and speaking with difficulty ; " I 
wish our bone-setter was at hand, to examine into the 
state of my ribs." 

" Captain Lawton," said the orderly of his troop, 
riding to the side of his commanding officer, " we are 
now passing the house of the pedler spy ; is it your 
pleasure that we burn it ? " 

" No ! " roared the captain, in a voice that startled 
the disappointed sergeant ; " are you an incendiary ? 
would you burn a house in cold blood ? let but a spark 
approach, and the hand that carries it will never light 
another." 

" Zounds ! " muttered the sleepy cornet in the rear, 
as he was nodding on his horse, " there is life in the 
captain, notwithstanding his tumble." 

Lawton and Mason rode on in silence, the latter 
ruminating on the wonderful change produced in his 
commander by his fall. 



THE SPY. 39 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The owlet loves the gloom of night, 

The lark salutes the day, 
The timid dove will coo at hand — 

But falcons soar away. 

Song. 

Oedees had been given to the sentinel who guarded 
the door of Henry's room,^ that the members of the 
prisoner's family should, at all times, have free access 
to his apartment : Cjesar -was included in this arrange- 
ment, as a matter of convenience, by the officer in 
command ; but strict inquiry and examination was 
made into the errand of every other applicant for ad- 
mission. A short conversation was passing between 
the woman of the house and the corporal of the guard, 
before the door that the sentinel had already opened 
in anticipation of the decision of his non-commissioijed 
commandant. 

" Would you refuse the consolations of religion to 
a fellow-creature about to suffer death ? " said the 
matron, with earnest zeal. " Would you plunge a 
soul into the fiery furnace, and a minister at hand to 
point out the straight and narrow path ? " 

" I '11 tell you what, good woman," returned the 
corporal, gently pushing her away ; " I 've no notion 
of my back being a highway for any man to walk to 
heaven upon. A pretty figure I should make at the 
pickets, for disobeying orders." 

1 In a farm-house near " the plains of Fishkill," where Henry Whar- 
ton was now confined under sentence of death by an American court- 
martial for having passed the lines as a spy, in disguise. 



40 J. FEN I MORE COOPER. 

" Admit the woman," said Dunwoodie, sternly, ob- 
serving for the first time that one of his own corps 
was on post. 

The corporal raised his hand to his cap, and fell back 
in silence ; the soldier stood to his arms, and the ma- 
tron entered. 

" Here is a reverend gentleman below, come to 
soothe the parting soul." 

" Show him in," said Henry, with feverish impa- 
tience. 

The person who was ushered into the apartment, 
preceded by Csesar, and followed by the matron, was 
a man bej^ond the middle age, or who might rather be 
said to approach the downhill of life. In stature he 
was above the size of ordinary men, though his exces- 
sive leanness might contribute in deceiving as to his 
height ; his countenance was sharp and unbending, 
and every muscle seemed set in rigid compression. 
No joy or relaxation appeared ever to have dwelt on 
features that frowned habitually, as if in detestation of 
the vices of mankind. The brows were beetling, dark, 
and forbidding, giving the promise of eyes of no less 
repelling expression ; but the organs were concealed 
beneath a pair of enormous green goggles, through 
which they glared around with a fierceness that de- 
nounced the coming day of wrath. All was fanati- 
cism, un charitableness, and denunciation. Long, lank 
hair, a mixture of gray and black, fell down his neck, 
and in some degree obscured the sides of his face, and, 
parting on his forehead, fell in either direction in 
straight and formal screens. On the top of this un- 



THE SPY. 41 

graceful exhibition was laid, impending foi'ward, so as 
to overhang in some measure the whole fabric, a large 
hat of three equal cocks. His coat was of a rusty 
black, and his breeches and stockings were of the 
same color ; his shoes without lustre, and half con- 
cealed beneath huge plated buckles. 

He stalked into the room, and, giving a stiff nod 
with his head, took the chair offered him b}' the black, 
in dignified silence. For several minutes no one broke 
this ominous pause in the conversation ; Henry feeling 
a repugnance to his guest, that he was vainly endeav- 
oring to conquer, and the stranger himself drawing 
forth occasional sighs and groans, that threatened a 
dissolution of the unequal connection between his sub- 
limated soul and its ungainly tenement. During this 
deathlike preparation, Mr. Wharton, with a feeling 
nearly allied to that of his son, led Sarah from the 
apartment. His retreat was noticed by the divine in 
a kind of scornful disdain, who began to hum the air 
of a popular psalm tune. 

" Who 's that ?" cried the prisoner, in amazement. 

" It is I, Captain Wharton," said Harvey Birch, re- 
moving the spectacles, and exhibiting his piercing 
eyes, shining under a pair of false eyebrows. 

" Good Heavens — Harvey ! " 

" Silence ! " said the pedler, solemnly ; " 'tis a name 
not to be mentioned, and least of all here, within the 
heart of the American army." Birch paused and 
gazed around him for a moment, with an emotion ex- 
ceeding the base passion of fear, and then continued in 
a gloomy tone, " There are a thousand halters in that 



42 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

very name, and little hope would there be left me of 
another escape, should I be again taken. This is a 
fearful venture that I am making ; but I could not 
sleep in quiet, and know that an innocent man was 
about to die the death of a dog, wli^en I might save 
him." 

" No," said Henry, with a glow of generous feeling 
on his cheek ; " if the risk to yourself be so heavy, re- 
tire as you came, and leave me to my fate. Dun- 
woodie is making, even now, powerful exertions in my 
behalf ; and if he meets with Mr. Harper in the course 
of the night, my liberation is certain." 

" Harper ! " echoed the pedler, remaining with his 
hands raised, in the act of replacing the spectacles ; 
" what do you know of Harper? and why do you think 
he will do you service ? " 

" I have his promise ; you remember our recent 
meeting in my father's dwelling, and he then gave an 
unasked promise to assist me." 

"Yes — but do you know him? that is — why do 
you think he has the power ? or what reason have you 
for believing he will remember his word? " 

"If there ever was the stamp of truth, or simple, 
honest benevolence, in the countenance of man, it 
shone in his," said Henry ; " besides, Dunwoodie has 
powerful friends in the rebel army, and it would be 
better that I take the chance where I am, than thus to 
expose you to certain death, if detected." 

"Captain Wharton," said Birch, looking guardedly 
around, and speaking with impressive seriousness of 
manner, " if I fail you, all fail you. No Harper nor 



THE SPY. 43 

Dunwoodie can save your life ; unless you get out 
with me, and that within the hour, you die to-morrow 
on the gallows of a murderer. Yes, such are their 
laws ; the man who fights, and kills, and plunders, is 
honored ; but he who serves his country as a spy, no 
matter how faithfully, no matter how honestly, lives 
to be reviled, or dies like the vilest criminal ! " 

" You forget, Mr. Birch," said the youth, a little 
indignantly, " that I am not a treacherous, lurking 
spy, who deceives to betray ; but innocent of the 
charge imputed to me." 

The blood rushed over the pale, meagre features of 
the pedler, until his face was one glow of fire ; but it 
passed quickly away, and he replied, — 

" I have told you truth. Ciesar met me, as he was 
going on his errand this morning, and with him I have 
laid the plan which, if executed as I wish, will save 
you — otherwise you are lost ; and I again tell you, 
that no other power on earth, not even Washington, 
can save you." 

" I submit," said the prisoner, yielding to his ear- 
nest manner, and goaded by the fears that were thus 
awakened anew. 

The pedler beckoned him to be silent, and walking 
to the door, opened it, with the stiff, formal air with 
which he had entered the apartment. 

" Friend, let no one enter," he said to the sentinel ; 
" we are about to go to prayer, and would wish to be 
alone." 

" I don't know that any will wish to interrupt you," 
returned the soldier, with a waggish leer of his eye ; 



44 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" but, should tliey be so disposed, I have no power to 
stop them, if the}^ be of the prisoner's friends ; I have 
my orders, and must mind them, whether the Enghsh- 
man goes to heaven, or not." 

" Audacious sinner ! " said the pretended priest, 
" have you not the fear of God before your eyes ! I 
tell you, as j^ou will dread punishment at the last day, 
to let none of the idolatrous communion enter, to 
mingle in the prayers of the righteous." 

" Whew-ew-ew — what a noble commander you'd 
make ! . . . . If you want to be alone, have you no 
knife to stick over the door-latch, that you must have 
a troop of horse to guard your meeting-house ? " 

The pedler took the hint, and closed the door im- 
mediately, using the precaution suggested by the 
dragoon. 

" You overact your part," said young Wharton, in 
constant apprehensioii of discovery ; " your zeal is top 
intemperate." 

" For a foot-soldier and them Eastern militia, it 
might be," said Harvey, turning a bag upside down 
that CcGsar now handed him ; " but these dragoons 
are fellows that you must brag down. A faint heart, 
Captain Wharton, would do but little here ; but come, 
here is a black shroud for your good-looking counte- 
nance," taking, at the same time, a parchment mask, 
and fitting it to the face of Henry. " The master 
and the man must change places for a season." 

" I don't t'ink he look a bit like me," said Csesar, 
with disgust, as he surveyed his young master with 
his new complexion. 



THE SPY. 45 

" Stop a minute, Csesar," said the pedler, with the 
hirking drollery that at times formed part of his man- 
ner, "till we get on the wool." 

" He worse than ebber now," cried the discontented 
African. " A fink colored man like a sheep ! I neb- 
ber see sicli a lip, Harvey ; he most as big as a sau- 
sage ! " 

Great pains had been taken in forming the different 
articles used in the disguise of Captain Wharton, and 
when arranged, under the skilful superintendence of 
the pedler, they formed together a transformation that 
would easily escape detection, from any but an extraor- 
dinary observer. 

The mask was stuffed and shaped in such a manner 
as to preserve the peculiarities, as well as the color, 
of the African visage ; and the wig was so artfully 
formed of black and white wool, as to imitate the 
pepper-and-salt color of Cpesar's own head, and to .ex- 
act plaudits from the black himself, who thought it an 
excellent counterfeit in everything but quality. 

" There is but one man in the American army who 
could detect you, Captain Wharton," said the pedler, 
surveying his work with satisfaction, " and he is just 
now out of our way." 

" And who is he ? " 

" The man who made you prisoner. He would see 
your white skin through a plank. But strip, both of 
you ; your clothes must be exchanged from head to 
foot." 

Csesar, who had received minute instructions from 
the pedler in their morning interview, immediately 



46 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

commenced throwing aside his coarse garments, which 
the youth took up and prepared to invest himself 
with ; unable, however, to repress a few signs of 
loathing. 

In the manner of the pedler there was an odd mixt- 
ure of care and humor ; the former was the result of 
a perfect knowledge of their danger, and the means 
necessary to be used in avoiding it ; and the latter 
proceeded from the unavoidably ludicrous circum- 
stances before him, acting on an indifference which 
sprung from habit, and long familiarity with such 
scenes as the present. 

" Here, captain," he said, taking up some loose 
wool, and beginning to stuff the stockings of Csesar, 
which were already on the leg of the prisoner ; " some 
judgment is necessary in shaping this limb. You 
will have to display it on horseback ; and the southern 
dragoons are so used to the brittle-shins, that should 
they notice your well-turned calf, they 'd know at once 
it never belonged to a black." 

" Golly ! " said Csesar, with a chuckle, that exhib- 
ited a mouth open from ear to ear, " Massa Harry 
breeches fit." 

" Anything but your leg," said the pedler, coolly 
pursuing the toilet of Henry. "Slip on the coat, cap- 
tain, over all. Upon my word, you 'd pass well at a 
pinkster frolic ; and here, Ca3sar, place this powdered 
wig over your curls, and be careful and look out of 
the window, whenever the door is open, and on no 
account speak, or you will betray all." 

" 1 s'pose Harvey t'ink a colored man ain't got a 



THE SPY. 47 

tongue like oder folk," grumbled the black, as he took 
the station assigned to hiin. 

Everything now was arranged for action, and the 
pedler very deliberately went over the whole of his in- 
junctions to the two actors in the scene. The captain 
he conjured to dispense with his erect military car- 
riage, and for a season to adopt the humble paces of 
his father's negro ; and Ciesar he enjoined to silence 
and disguise, so long as he could possibly maintain 
them. Thus prepared, he opened the door, and called 
aloud to the sentinel, who had retired to the farthest 
end of the passage, in order to avoid receiving any of 
that spiritual comfort which he felt was the sole prop- 
erty of another. 

" Let the woman of the house be called," said Har- 
vey, in the solemn key of his assumed character ; " and 
let her come alone. The prisoner is in a happy train 
of meditation, and must not be led from his d(?vo- 
tions." 

Csesar sunk his face between his hands ; and when 
the soldier looked into the apartment, he thought he 
saw his charge in deep abstraction. Casting a glance 
of huge contempt at the divine, he called aloud for 
the good woman of the house. She hastened at the 
summons, with earnest zeal, entertaining a secret hope 
that she was to be admitted to the gossip of a death- 
bed repentance. 

" Sister," said the minister, in the authoritative 
tones of a master, " have you in the house ' The Chris- 
tian Criminal's last Moments, or Thoughts on Eter- 
nity, for them who die a violent Death ' ? " 



48 J. FENUIORE COOPER. 

" I never heard of tlie book ! " said tlie matron in 
astonishment. 

" 'T is not unlikely ; there are many books you have 
never heard of : it is impossible for this poor penitent 
to pass in peace, without the consolations of that vol- 
ume. One hour's reading in it is worth an age of 
man's preaching." 

" Bless me, what a treasure to possess! — when was 
it put out ? " 

'• It was first put out at Geneva in the Greek lan- 
guage, and then translated at Boston. It is a book, 
woman, that should be in the hands of every Chris- 
tian, especially such as die upon the gallows. Have 
a horse prepared instantly for this black, who shall 

accompany me to my bi'other , and I will send 

down the volume yet in season. Brother, compose thy 
mind ; you are now in the narrow path to glory." 

Csesar wriggled a little in his chair, but he had suffi- 
cient recollection to conceal his face with hands that 
were, in their turn, concealed by gloves. The land- 
lady departed, to comply with this very reasonable re- 
quest, and the group of conspirators were again left to 
themselves. 

" This is well," said the pedler ; " but the difficult 
task is to deceive the officer who commands the guard 
— he is lieutenant to Lawton, and has learned some 
of the captain's own cunning in these things. Remem- 
ber, Captain Wharton," continued he with an air of 
pride, " that now is the moment when everything de- 
pends on our coolness. 

" My fate can be made but little worse than it is at 



THE SPY. 49 

present, my worthy fellow," said Henry ; but for your 
sake I will do all that in nie lies." 

" And wherein can I be more forlorn and persecuted 
than I now am ? " asked the pedler, with that wild in- 
coherence which often crossed his manner. " But I 
have promised ojie to save you, and to him I have 
never yet broken my word." 

"And who is he?" said Henry, with awakened in- 
terest. 

" No one." 

The man soon returned, and announced that the 
horses were at the door. Harvey gave the captain a 
glance, and led the way down the stairs, first desiring 
the woman to leave the prisoner to himself, in order 
that he might digest the wholesome mental food that 
he had so lately received. 

A rumor of the odd character of the priest had 
spread from the sentinel at the door to his comrades, 
so that when Harvey and Wharton reached the open 
space before the building, they found a dozen idle dra- 
goons loitering about, with the waggish intention of 
quizzing the fanatic, and employed in affected admira- 
tion of the steeds. 

"A fine horse ! " said the leader in this plan of mis- 
chief ; " but a little low in flesh ; I suppose from hard 
labor in your calling." 

" My calling may be laborsome to both myself and 
this faithful beast, but then a daj^ of settling is at 
hand, that will reward me for all my outgoings and 
incomings," said Birch, putting his foot in the stirrup, 
and preparing to mount. 



50 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" You work for pay, then, as we fight for't ? " cried 
another of the party. 

" Even so — 'is not the laborer worthy of his 
hire?'" 

" Come, suppose you give us a Httle preaching ; we 
have a leisure moment just now, and there 's no telling 
how much good you might do a set of reprobates like 
us, in a few words ; here, mount this horse-block, and 
take your text where you please." 

The men now gathered in eager delight around the 
pedler, who, glancing his eye expressively towards the 
captain, who had been suffered to mount, replied, — 

" Doubtless, for such is my duty. But, Ceesar, you 
can ride up the road and deliver the note — the un- 
happy prisoner will be wanting the book, for his hours 
are numbered." 

" Aye, aye, go along, Cfesar, and get the book," 
shouted half a dozen voices, all crowding eagerly 
around the ideal priest, in anticipation of a frolic. 

" What are you at there, scoundrels ? " cried Lieu- 
tenant Mason, as he came in sight from a walk he had 
taken to the evening parade of the regiment of mili- 
tia ; " away with every man of you to your quarters, 
and let me find that each horse is cleaned and littered 
when I come round." The sound of the officer's voice 
operated like a charm, and no priest could desire a 
more silent congregation, although he might possibly 
have wished for one that was more numerous. Mason 
had not done speaking, when it was reduced to the 
image of CiEsar only. The pedler took that opportu- 
nity to mount, but he had to preserve the gravity of 



THE SPY. 51 

his movements, for the remark of the troopers upon 
the condition of their beasts was but too just, and a 
dozen dragoon horses stood saddled and bridled at 
hand, ready to receive their riders at a moment's 
warning. 

" Well, have you bitted the poor fellow within," 
said Mason, " that he can take his last ride under the 
curb of divinity, old gentleman ? " 

" There is evil in thy conversation, profane man," 
cried the priest, raising his hands and casting his eyes 
upwards in holy horror ; " so I will depart from thee 
unhurt, as Daniel was liberated from the lions' den." 

" Off with you, for a hypocritical, psalm-singing, 
canting rogue in disguise," said jNIason scornfully ; by 
the life of Washington ! it worries an honest fellow to 
see such voracious beasts of prey ravaging a country 
for which he sheds his blood. If I had you on a Vir- 
ginia plantation for a quarter of an hour, I 'd t^ach 
you to worm the tobacco with the turkeys." 

" Out upon thee for a reviler and scoffer of good- 
ness ! " said Birch, moving slowly, and w^ith a due ob- 
servance of clerical dignit}^, down the road followed by 
the imaginary Cffisar ; " but I leave thee, and that be- 
hind me that will prove thy condemnation, and take 
from thee a hearty and joyful deliverance." 

" The fellow rides like a stake," muttered the 
trooper ; " and his legs stick out like the cocks of his 
hat. I wish I had him below these hills, where the 
law is not over-particular, I 'd" — 

" Corporal of the guard I — corporal of the guard ! " 
shouted the sentinel in the passage to the chambers, 
" corporal of the guard ! — corporal of the guard ! " 



52 .7. FENIMORE COOPER. 

The subaltern flew up the narrow stairway that led 
to the room of the prisoner, and demanded the mean- 
ing of the outcry. 

The soldier was standing at the open door of the 
apartment, looking in with a suspicious eye on the 
supposed British officer. On observing his lieutenant, 
he fell back with habitual respect, and replied, with 
an air of puzzled thought, — 

"I don't know, sir; but just now the prisoner 
looked queer. Ever since the preacher has left him, 
he don't look as he used to do — but," gazing in- 
tently over the shoulder of his officer, " it must be 
him, too ! There is the same powdered head, and the 
darn in the coat, where he was hit the day we had 
the last brush with the enemy." 

" And then all this noise is occasioned by your 
doubting whether that poor gentleman is your pris-" 
oner or not, is it, sirrah ? Who else do you think it 
can' bo? " 

" I don't know who else it can be," returned the 
fellow, sullenly ; " but he has grown thicker and 
shorter, if it is he ; and see for yourself, sir, he shakes 
all over, like a man in an ague." 

This was but too true. Csesar was an alarmed audi- 
tor of this short conversation, and, from congratulat- 
ing himself upon the dexterous escape of his young 
master, his thoughts were very naturally beginning to 
dwell upon the probable consequences to his own per- 
son. The pause that succeeded the last remark of the 
sentinel in no degree contributed to the restoration of 
his faculties. Lieutenant Mason was busied in exam- 



THE SPY. 53 

ining witli his own eyes the suspected person of the 
black, and Csesar was aware of the fact, by steahng a 
look through a passage under one of his arras, that 
he had left expressly for the purpose of reconnoiter- 
ing. Captain Lawton would have discovered the 
fraud immediately, but Mason was by no means so 
quick-sighted as his commander. He therefore turned 
rather contemptuously to the soldier, and, speaking in 
an undertone, observed, — 

"• That anabaptist, methodistical, quaker, psalm- 
singing rascal has frightened the boy, wdth his farrago 
about flames and brimstone. I '11 step in and cheer 
him with a little rational conversation." 

" I have heard of fear making a man white," said 
the soldier, drawing back, and staring as if his eyes 
would start from their sockets, " but it has changed 
the royal captain to a black ! " 

The truth was, that Ctesar, unable to hear wjiat 
Mason uttered in a low voice, and having every fear 
aroused in him by what had already passed, incau- 
tiously removed the wig a little from one of his ears, 
in order to hear the better, without in the least re- 
membering that its color might prove fatal to his dis- 
guise. The sentinel had kept his eyes fastened on 
his prisoner, and noticed the action. The attention of 
Mason was instantly drawn to the same object ; and, 
forgetting all delicacy for a brother ofiicer in distress, 
or, in short, forgetting everything but the censure that 
might alight on his corps, the lieutenant sprang for- 
ward and seized the terrified African by the throat ; 
for no sooner had Csesar heard his color named, than 



54 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

he knew his discovery was certain ; and at the sound 
of Mason's heavy boot on the floor, he arose from 
his seat, and retreated precipitately to a corner of 
the room. 

" Who are yovi ? " cried Mason, dashing the head 
of the okl man against the angle of the wall at each 
interrogatory, " who are you, and where is the Eng- 
lishman ? Speak, thou thundercloud ! Answer me, 
you jackdaw, or I '11 hang you on the gallows of the 
spy!" 

Caesar continued firm. Neither the threats nor the 
blows could extract any reply, until the lieutenant, by 
a very natural transition in the attack, sent his heavy 
boot forward in a direction that brought it in direct 
contact with the most sensitive part of the negro — 
his shin. The most obdurate heart could not have 
exacted further patience, and Cresar instantly gave in. 
The first words he spoke were, — 

" Golly ! massa, you t'ink I got no feelin' ? " 

" By heavens ! " shouted the lieutenant, " it is the 
negro himself ! Scoundrel ! where is your master, and 
who was the priest ? " While speaking, he made a 
movement as if about to renew the attack ; but Ccesar 
cried aloud for mercy, promising to tell all that he 
knew. 

" Who was the priest ? " repeated the dragoon, 
drawing back his formidable leg, and holding it in 
threatening suspense. 

" Harvey, Harvey ! " cried Cresar, dancing from one 
leg to the other, as he thought each member in turn 
might be assailed. 



THE SPY. 55 

" Harvey who, you black villain ? " cried the impa- 
tient lieutenant, as he executed a full measure of ven- 
geance by letting his leg fly. 

" Birch ! " shrieked Cfesar, falling on his knees, the 
tears rolling in large drops over his shining face. 

" Harvey Birch ! " echoed the trooper, hurling the 
black from him, and rushing from the room. " To 
arms ! to arms ! Fifty guineas for the life of the ped- 
ler spy — give no quarter to either. Mount, mount ! 
to arms ! to horse ! " 

During the uproar occasioned by the assembling of 
the dragoons, who all rushed tumultuously to their 
horses, Caesar rose from the floor, where he had been 
thrown by ]\Iason, and began to examine into his in- 
juries. Happily for himself, he had alighted on his 
head, and consequently sustained no material damage. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, 

Away went hat and wig ; 
He little dreamt, when he set out, 

Of running such a rig. 

COAVPER. 

The road which it was necessary for the pedler 
and the English captain to travel, in order to reach 
the shelter of the hills, lay, for a half mile in full 
view from the door of the building that had so re- 
cently been the prison of the latter ; running for the 



56 /. FENIMORE COOPER. 

whole distance over the rich plain, that spreads to 
the very foot of the mountains, which here rise in a 
nearly perpendicular ascent from their bases ; it then 
turned short to the right, and was obliged to follow 
the windings of nature, as it won its way into the 
bosom of the Highlands. 

To preserve the supposed difference in their sta- 
tions, Harvey rode a short distance ahead of his com- 
panion, and maintained the sober, dignified pace, that 
was suited to his assumed character. On their right, 
the regiment of foot, that we have already mentioned, 
lay in tents ; and the sentinels who guarded their en- 
campment were to be seen moving with measured 
tread under the hills themselves. 

The first impulse of Henry was, certainly, to urge 
the beast he rode to his greatest speed at once, and 
by a coup-de-main not only accomplish his escape, but 
relieve himself from the torturing suspense of his sit- 
uation. But the forward movement that the youtli 
made for this purpose was instantly checked by the 
pedler. 

" Hold up ! " he cried, dexterously reining his own 
horse across the path of the other ; " would you ruin 
us both ? Fall into the place of a black, following 
his master. Did you not see their blooded chargers, 
all saddled and bridled, standing in the sun before the 
house ? How long do you think that miserable Dutch 
horse you are on would hold his speed, if pursued by 
the Virginians ? Every foot that we can gain, with- 
out giving the alarm, counts a day in our lives. Ride 
steadily after me, and on no account look back. They 



THE SPY. 57 

are as subtle as foxes, aye, and as ravenous for blood 
as wolves !" 

Henry reluctantly restrained bis impatience, and fol- 
lowed tbe direction of tlie pedler. His imagination, 
however, continually alarmed him with the fancied 
sounds of pursuit ; though Birch, wbo occasionally 
looked back under the pretence of addressing his com- 
panion, assured him that all continued quiet and peace- 
ful. 

" But," said Henry, " it will not be possible for Cae- 
sar to remain long undiscovered. Had we not better 
put our horses to the gallop, and by the time they can 
reflect on the cause of our flight, we can reach the 
corner of the woods? " 

" Ah ! you little know them, Captain Wharton," 
returned the pedler; " there is a sergeant at this mo- 
ment looking after us, as if he thought all was not 
right ; the keen-eyed fellow watches me like a tiger 
lying in wait for his leap. When I stood on the horse- 
block, he half suspected that something was wrong. 
Nay, check 3-our beast — we must let the animals walk 
a little, for he is laying his hand on the pommel of his 
saddle. If he mounts, we are gone. The foot-soldiers 
could reach us with their muskets." 

" What does he now ! " asked Henry, reining his 
horse to a walk, but at the same time pressing his 
heels into the animal's sides, to be in readiness for a 
spring, 

"He turns from his charger, and looks the other 
way ; now trot on gently — not so fast — not so fast. 
Observe the sentinel in the field, a little ahead of us — 
he eyes us keenly." 



58 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" Never mind the footman," said Henry impatient- 
ly ; " lie can do nothing but shoot us — whereas these 
dragoons may make me a captive again. Surel}^ Har- 
vey, there are horse moving down the road behind us. 
Do you see nothing particular?" 

" Humph ! " ejaculated the pedler ; " there is some- 
thing particular, indeed, to be seen behind the thicket 
on our left. Turn your head a little, and you may 
see and profit by it too." 

Henrj'^ eagerly seized this permission to look aside, 
and the blood curdled to his heart as he observed that 
they were passing a gallows, which unquestionably 
had been erected for his own execution. He turned 
his face from the sight in undisguised horror. 

" There is a warning to be prudent," said the ped- 
ler, in the sententious manner that he often adopted. 

" It is a terrific sight, indeed ! " cried Henry, for a 
moment veiling his eyes with his hand, as if to drive a 
vision from before him. 

The pedler moved his body partly around, and 
spoke with energetic but gloomy bitterness : " And 
yet. Captain Wharton, you see it where the setting sun 
shines full upon you ; the air you breathe is cleai", and 
fresh from the hills before you. Every step that you 
take leaves that hated gallows behind ; and every 
dark hollow, and every shapeless rock in the moun- 
tains, offers you a hiding-place from the vengeance of 
3'our enemies. But I have seen the gibbet raised, 
when no place of refuge offered. Twice have I been 
buried in dungeons, where, fettered and in chains, I 
have passed nights in torture, looking forward to the 



THE SPY. 69 

morning's dawn that was to light me to a death of in- 
famy. The sweat has started from hmbs that seemed 
ah'eady drained of their moisture ; and if I ventured 
to the hole that admitted air through grates of iron to 
look out upon the smiles of nature, Avhich God has 
bestowed for the meanest of his creatures, the gibbet 
has glared before my eyes, like an evil conscience har- 
rowing the soul of a dying man. Four times have I been 
in their power, besides this last ; but — twice — did I 
think my hour had come. It is hard to die at the best, 
Captain Wharton ; but to spend your last moments 
alone and unpitied, to know that none near you so 
much as think of the fate that is to you the closing of 
all that is earthly ; to think that, in a few hours, you 
are to be led from the gloom, which, as you dwell on 
what follows, becomes dear to you, to the face of day, 
and there to meet all eyes fixed upon you, as if you 
were a wild beast ; and to lose sight of everything 
amidst the jeers and scoffs of your fellow-creatures — 
that, Captain Wharton, that indeed is to die ! " 

Henry listened in amazement, as his companion 
uttered this speech with a vehemence altogether new 
to him ; both seemed to have forgotten their danger 
and their disguises. 

" What ! were you ever so near death as that ? " 
" Have I not been the hunted beast of these hills for 
three years past ? " resumed Harvey ; " and once they 
even led me to the foot of the gallows itself, and I es- 
caped only by an alarm from the royal troops. Had 
they been a quarter of an liour later, I must have died. 
There was I placed in the midst of unfeeling men, and 



60 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

gaping women and children, as a monster to be cursed. 
When I would pray to God, my ears were insulted 
with the history of my crimes ; and when, in all that 
multitude, I looked around for a single face that 
showed me any pity, I could find none — no, not even 
one ; all cursed me as a wretch who would sell his 
country for gold. The sun was brighter to my eyes 
than common — but it was the last time I should see 
it. The fields were gay and pleasant, and everything 
seemed as if this world was a kind of heaven. Oh ! 
how sweet life was to me at that moment ! 'T was a 
dreadful houi', Captain Wharton, and such as you have 
never known. You have friends to feel for you, but 
I had none but a father to mourn my loss, when he 
might hear of it ; but there was no pity, no consola- 
tion near, to soothe my anguish. Everything seemed 
to have deserted me. I even thought that he had for- 
gotten that I lived." 

" What ! did you feel that God himself had for- 
gotten you, Harvey ? " 

" God never forsakes his servants," returned Birch, 
with reverence, and exhibiting naturally a devotion 
that hitherto he had only assumed. 

" And whom did you mean by HE ? " 

The pedler raised himself in his saddle to the stiff 
and upright posture that was suited to his outward 
appearance. The look of fire, that for a short time 
glowed on his countenance, disappeared in the solemn 
lines of unbending self-abasement, and, speaking as if 
addressing a negro, he replied, — 

" In heaven there is no distinction of color, my 



THE SPY. 61 

brother ; therefore you have a precious charge within 
you, that j^on must hereafter render an account of ; " 
dropping his voice — " this is the last sentinel near the 
road ; look not back, as you value jour life." 

Henr}' remembered his situation, and instantly as- 
sumed the humble demeanor of his adopted character. 
The unaccountable energy of the pedler's manner was 
soon forgotten in the sense of his own immediate dan- 
ger ; and with the recollection of his critical situation 
returned all the uneasiness that he had momentarily 
forgotten. 

" What see you, Harvey? " he cried, observing the 
pedler to gaze towards the building they had left, with 
ominous interest ; " what see you at the house ? " 

" That which bodes no good to us," returned the 
pretended priest. " Throw aside the mask and wig; 
you will need all your senses without much delay ; 
throw them in the road ; there are none before us that 
I dread, but there are those behind who will give us a 
fearful race ! " 

" Nay, then," cried the captain, casting the imple- 
ments of his disguise into the highway, "' let us im- 
prove our time to the utmost. We want a full quar- 
ter to the turn ; why not push for it, at once?" 

" Be cool ; they are in alarm, but they will not 
mount without an officer, unless they see us fly — now 
he comes, he moves to the stables ; trot briskly ; a 
dozen are in tlieir saddles, but the officer stops to 
tighten his girths ; they hope to steal a march upon 
us ; he is mounted ; now ride. Captain Wharton, for 
your life, and keep at my heels. If you quit me, you 
will be lost ! " 



62 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

A second request was unnecessary. The instant 
that Harvey put his horse to his speed, Captain Whar- 
ton was at his heels, urging the miserable animal he 
rode to the utmost. Birch had selected his own beast ; 
and although vastly inferior to the high-fed and blooded 
chargers of the dragoons, still it was much superior to 
the little pony that had been thought good enough to 
carry Csesar Thompson on an errand. A very few 
jumps convinced the captain that his companion was 
fast leaving him, and a fearful glance thrown behind 
informed the fugitive that his enemies were as speedily 
approaching. With that abandonment that makes 
misery doubly grievous when it is to be supported 
alone, Henry cried aloud to the pedler not to desert 
him. Harvey instantly drew up, and suffered his 
companion to run alongside of his own horse. The 
cocked hat and wig of the pedler fell from his head the 
moment that his steed began to move briskly, and this 
development of their disguise, as it might be termed, 
was witnessed by the dragoons, who announced their 
observation by a boisterous shout that seemed to be 
uttered in the very ears of the fugitives ; so loud was 
the cry, and so short the distance between them. 

" Had we not better leave our horses? " said Henry, 
" and make for the hills across the fields, on our left ? 
— the fence will stop our pursuers." 

" That way lies the gallows," returned the pedler ; 
" these fellows go three feet to our two, and would 
mind the fences no more than we do these ruts ; but 
it is a short quarter to the turn, and there are two 
roads behind the wood. They may stand to choose 



THE SPY. 63 

until they can take the track, and we shall gain a 
little upon them there." 

" But this miserable horse is blown already," cried 
Henry, urging his beast with the end of his bridle, at 
the same time that Harvey aided his efforts by apply- 
ing the lash of a heavy riding-whip he carried; "he 
will never stand it for half a mile farther." 

" A quarter will do ; a quarter will do," said the 
pedler ; " a single quarter will save us, if you follow 
my directions." 

Somewhat cheered by the cool and confident man- 
ner of his companion, Henry continued silently urg- 
ing his horse forward. A few moments brought them 
to the desired turn, and as they doubled round a point 
of low underbrush, the fugitives caught a glimpse of 
their pursuers scattered along the highway. Mason 
and the sergeant, being better mounted than the rest 
of the part}^ were much nearer to their heels than 
even the pedler thought could he possible. 

At the foot of the hills, and for some distance up 
the dark valley that wound among the mountains, a 
thick underwood of saplings had been suffered to 
shoot up, where the heavier growth was felled for the 
sake of the fuel. At the sight of this cover, Henr}^ 
again urged the pedler to dismount, and to plunge 
into the woods ; but his request was promptl}'^ refused. 
The two roads, before mentioned, met at a very sharp 
angle, at a short distance from the turn, and both 
were circuitous, so that but little of either could be 
seen at a time. The pedler took the one which led to 
the left, but held it only a moment ; for, on reaching 



64 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

a partial opening in the thicket, he darted across into 
the right-hand path, and led the way up a steep as- 
cent, which lay directly before them. This manoeu- 
vre saved them. On reaching the fork, the dragoons 
followed the track, and passed the spot where the 
fugitives had crossed to the other road, before they 
missed the marks of the footsteps. Their loud cries 
were heard by Henry and the pedler, as their wearied 
and breathless animals toiled up the hill, ordering 
their comrades in the rear to ride in the right direc- 
tion. The captain again proposed to leave their horses 
and dash into the thicket. 

" Not yet, not yet," said Birch, in a low voice ; 
" the road falls from the top of this hill as steep as it 
rises ; first let us gain the top." While speaking, 
they reached the desired summit, and both threw 
themselves from their horses, Henry plunging into the 
thick underwood, which covered the side of the moun- 
tain for some distance above them. Harvey stopped 
to give each of their beasts a few severe blows of his 
whip, that drove them headlong down the path on the 
other side of the eminence, and then followed his ex- 
ample. 

The pedler entered the thicket with a little caution, 
and avoided, as much as possible, rustling or break- 
ing the branches in his way. There was but time 
only to shelter his person from view, when a dragoon 
led up the ascent ; and on reaching the height he cried 
aloud, — 

" I saw one of their horses turning the hill this 
minute." 



THE SPY. 65 

" Drive on ; spur forward, my lads," shouted Ma- 
son ; "give the Englishman quarter, but cut down the 
pedler, and make an end of him." 

Henry felt his companion gripe his arm hard, as he 
listened in a great tremor to this cry, which was fol- 
lowed by the passage of a dozen horsemen, with a 
vigor and speed that showed too plainly how little 
security their over-tired steeds could have afforded 
them. 

" Now," said the pedler, rising from the cover to 
reconnoitre, and standing for a moment in suspense, 
" all that we gain is clear gain ; for, as we go up, they 
go down. Let us be stirring." 

" But will they not follow us, and surround this 
mountain ? " said Henry, rising, and imitating the 
labored but rapid progress of his companion; "re- 
member, they have foot as well as horse, and, at any 
rate, we shall starve in the hills." 

" Fear nothing, Captain Wharton," returned the 
pedler, with confidence ; " this is not the mountain 
that I would be on, but necessity has made me a dex- 
terous pilot among these hills. I will lead you where 
no man will dai"e to follow. See, the sun is already 
setting behind the tops of the western mountains, and 
it will be two hours to the rising of the moon. Who, 
think you, will follow us far, on a November night, 
among these rocks and precipices ? " 

" Listen \ " exclaimed Henry ; " the dragoons are 
shouting to each other ; they miss us already." 

" Come to the point of this rock, and you may sec 
them," said Harvey, composedly setting himself down 



66 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

to rest, " Nay, they can see us — observe, they are 
pointing up with their fingers. There ! one has fired 
his pistol, but the distance is too great even for a 
musket." 

" They will pursue us," cried the impatient Henry ; 
" let us be moving." 

" They will not think of such a thing," returned 
the pedler, picking the checkerberries that grew on 
the thin soil Avhere he sat, and very deliberately chew- 
ing them, leaves and all, to refresh his mouth. " What 
progress could they make here, in their heavy boots 
and spurs, and long swords ? No, no — they may go 
back and turn out the foot, but the horse pass through 
these defiles, when they can keep the saddle, with 
fear and trembling. Come, follow me. Captain Whar- 
ton ; we have a troublesome march before us, but I 
will bring you where none will think of venturing 
this night." 

So saying, they both arose, and were soon hid from 
view amongst the rocks and caverns of the mountain. 

The conjecture of the pedler was true. Mason and 
his men dashed down the hill, in pursuit, as they sup- 
posed, of their victims, but on reaching the bottom 
lands, they found only the deserted horses of the fugi- 
tives. Some little time was spent in examining the 
woods near them, and in endeavoring to take the trail 
on such ground as might enable the horse to pursue, 
when one of the party descried the pedler and Henry 
seated on the rock already mentioned. 

"He's off," muttered Mason, eying Harvey, with 
fury ; " he 's o££, and we are disgraced. By heavens. 



THE SPY. 67 

Washington will not trust us with the keeping of a 
suspected tory, if we let the rascal trifle in this man- 
ner with the corps ; and there sits the Englishman, 
too, looking down upon us with a smile of benevo- 
lence ! I fancy that I can see it. Well, well, my lad, 
you are comfortably seated, I will confess, and that is 
something better than dancing upon nothing ; but 
you are not to the west of the Harlaem River yet, and 
I '11 try your wind before you tell Sir Henry ^ what 
you have seen, or I 'm no soldier." 

"Shall I fire and frighten the pedler ?" asked one 
of the men, drawing his pistol from the holster. 

" Aye, startle the birds from their perch — let us 
see how they can use the wing." The man fired the 
pistol, and Mason continued, " Fore George, I believe 
the scoundrels laugh at us. But homeward, or we 
shall have them rolling stones upon our heads, and 
the royal gazettes teeming with an account of a r^bel 
regiment routed by two loj^alists. They have told 
bigger lies than that, before now." 

The dragoons moved sullenly after their officer, who 
rode towards their quarters, musing on the course it 
behooved him to pursue in the present dilemma. It 
was twilight when Mason's party reached the dwell- 
ing, before the door of which were collected a great 
number of the officers and men busily employed in 
giving and listening to the most exaggerated accounts 
of the escape of the spy. The mortified dragoons 
gave their ungrateful tidings with the sullen air of 
disappointed men ; and most of the oflficers gathered 

1 Clinton. 



68 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

round Mason, to consult of tlie steps that ought to be 
taken. Miss Peyton and Fi-ances were breathless and 
unobserved listeners to all that passed between them, 
from the window of the chamber immediately above 
their heads. 

" Something must be done, and that speedily," ob- 
served the commanding officer of the regiment, which 
lay encamped before the house : "this English officer 
is doubtless an instrument in the great blow aimed 
at us by the enemy lately ; besides, our honor is in- 
volved in his escape." 

" Let us beat the w^oods ! " cried several at once ; 
" by morning we shall have them both again." 

" Softly, softly, gentlemen," returned the colonel ; 
"no man can travel these hills after dark, unless used 
to the passes. Nothing but horse can do service in 
this business, and I presume Lieutenant Mason hesi- 
tates to move without the orders of his major." 

" I certainly dare not," replied the subaltern grave- 
ly, shaking his head, " unless you will take the re- 
sponsibility of an order; but Major Dunwoodie will be 
back again in two hours, and we can carry the tidings 
through the hills before daylight ; so that by spread- 
ing patrols across, from one river to the other, and 
offering a reward to the country people, their escape 
will yet be impossible, unless they can join the party 
that is said to be out on the Hudson." 

" A very plausible plan," cried the colonel, " and 
one that must succeed ; but let a messenger be dis- 
patched to Dunwoodie, or he may continue at the 
ferry until it proves too late ; though doubtless the 
runaways will lie in the mountains to-night." 



THE SPY 69 

To this suggestion Mason acquiesced, and a courier 
was sent to the major with the important intelligence 
of the escape of Henry, and an intimation of the neces- 
sity of his presence to conduct the pursuit. After this 
arrangement, the officers separated. 

When Miss Peyton and her niece first learnt the 
escape of Captain Wharton, it was with difficulty they 
could credit their senses. They both relied so im- 
plicitly on the success of Dunwoodie's exertions, that 
they thought the act, on the part of their relative, 
extremely imprudent; but it was now too late to mend 
it. While listening to the conversation of the officers, 
both were struck with the increased danger of Henrj^'s 
situation, if recaptured, and they trembled to think 
of the great exertions that would be made to accom- 
plish this object. Miss Peyton consoled herself, and 
endeavored to cheer her niece, with the probability 
that the fugitives would pursue their course with jin- 
remitting diligence, so that they might reach the neu- 
tral ground before the horse would carry down the 
tidings of their flight. The absence of Dunwoodie 
seemed to her all-important, and the artless lady was 
anxiously devising some project that might detain her 
kinsman, and thus give her nephew the longest possi- 
ble time. But very different were the reflections of 
Frances. She could no longer doubt that the figure 
she had seen on the hill was Birch, and she felt cer- 
tain that, instead of flying to the friendly forces be- 
low, her brother would be taken to the mysterious hut 
to pass the night. 

Frances and her aunt held a long and animated 



70 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

discussion by themselves, when the good spinster re- 
hictantly yielded to the representation of her niece, 
and, folding her in her arms, she kissed her cold cheek, 
and, fervently blessing her, allowed her to depart on 
an errand of fraternal love. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

And here, forlorn and lost, I tread, 

With fainting steps, and slow ; 
Where wilds, immeasurably spread, 

Seem length'ning as I go. 

Goldsmith. 

The night had set in dark and chilling, as Frances 
Wharton, with a beating heart but light step, moved 
through the little garden that lay behind the farm- 
house which had been her brother's prison, and took 
her way to the foot of the mountain, where she had 
seen the figure of him she supposed to be the pedler. 
It was still early, but the darkness and the dreary 
nature of a November evening would, at any other 
moment, or with less inducement to exertion, have 
driven her back in terror to the circle slie had left. 
Without pausing to reflect, however, she flew over 
the ground with a rapidity that seemed to bid defiance 
to all impediments, nor stopped even to breathe, until 
she had gone half the distance to the rock that she 
had marked as the spot where Birch made his appear- 
ance on that very morning. 



THE SPY. 71 

The good treatment of their women is the surest 
evidence that a people can give of their civilization ; 
and there is no nation which has more to boast of, in 
this respect, than the Americans. Frances felt but 
little apprehension from the orderly and quiet troops 
who were taking their evening's repast on the side of 
the highway, opposite* to the field through which she 
was flying. They were her countrymen, and she knew 
that her sex would be respected by the Eastern militia, 
who composed this body ; but in the volatile and reck- 
less character of the Southern horse she had less con- 
fidence. Outrages of any description were seldom 
committed by the really American soldiery ; but she 
recoiled, with exquisite delicacy, from even the ap- 
pearance of humiliation. When, therefore, she heard 
the footsteps of a horse moving slowly up the road, 
she shrank, timidly, into a little thicket of wood 
which grew around the spring that bubbled from the 
side of a hillock near her. The vidette, for such it 
proved to be, passed her without noticing her form, 
wliich was so enveloped as to be as little conspicuous 
as possible, humming a low air to himself, and proba- 
bly thinking of some other fair that he had left on 
the banks of the Potomac. 

Frances listened anxiously to the retreating foot- 
steps of his horse, and, as they died upon her ear, she 
ventured from her place of secrecy, and advanced a 
short distance into the field, where, startled at the 
gloom, and appalled with the dreariness of the pros- 
pect, she paused to reflect on what she had under- 
taken. Throwing back the hood of her cardinal, she 



72 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

sought the support of a tree, and gazed towards the 
summit of the mountain that was to be the goal of her 
enterprise. It rose fi-om the plain like a huge pyra- 
mid, giving nothing to the eye but its outlines. The 
pinnacle could be faintly discerned in front of a lighter 
background of clouds, between which a few glimmer- 
ing stars occasionally twinkled in momentary bright- 
ness, and then gradually became obscured by the 
passing vapor that was moving before the wind, at a 
vast distance below the clouds themselves. Should 
she return, Henry and the pedler would most prob- 
ably pass the night in fancied security upon that very 
hill towards which she was straining her eyes, in the 
vain hope of observing some light that might encour- 
age her to proceed. The deliberate, and what to her 
seemed cold-blooded, project of the officer for the re- 
capture of the fugitives, still rang in her ears, and 
stimulated her to go on ; but the solitude into which 
she must venture, the time, the actual danger of the 
ascent, and the uncertainty of her finding the hut, or 
what was still more disheartening, the chance that it 
might be occupied by unknown tenants, and those of 
the worst description — urged her to retreat. 

The increasing darkness was each moment render- 
ing objects less and less distinct, and the clouds were 
gathering more gloomily in the rear of the hill, until 
its form could no longer be discerned. Frances threw 
back her rich curls with both hands on her temples, 
in order to possess her senses in their utmost keen- 
ness ; but the towering hill was entirely lost to the 
eye. At length she discovered a faint and twinkling 



THE SPY 73 

blaze in the direction in which she thought the build- 
ing stood, that, by its reviving and receding lustre, 
might be taken for the glimmering of a fire. But the 
delusion vanished, as the horizon again cleared, and 
the star of evening shone forth from a cloud, after 
struggling hard, as if for existence. She now saw the 
mountain to the left of the place where the planet was 
shining, and suddenly a streak of mellow light burst 
upon the fantastic oaks that were thinly scattered over 
its summit, and gradually moved down its side, until 
the whole pile became distinct under the rays of the 
rising moon. Although it would have been physically 
impossible for our heroine to advance without the aid 
of the friendly light, which now gleamed on the long 
line of level land before her, yet she was not encour- 
aged to proceed. If she could see the goal of her 
wishes, she could also perceive the difficulties that 
must attend her reaching it. 

While deliberating in distressing incertitude, now 
shrinking with the timidity of her sex and years 
from the entei'prise, and now resolving to rescue her 
brother at every hazard, Frances turned her looks to- 
wards the east, in earnest gaze at the clouds which 
constantly threatened to involve her again in compar- 
ative darkness. Had an adder stung her, she could 
not have sprung with greater celerity than she re- 
coiled from the object against which she was leaning, 
and which she for the first time noticed. The two 
upright posts, with a cross-beam on their tops, and a 
rude platform beneath, told but too plainly the nature 
of the structure ; even the cord was suspended from an 



74 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

iron staple, and was swinging to and fro in tlie night 
air. Frances hesitated no longer, but rather flew than 
ran across the meadow, and was soon at the base of 
the rock, where she hoped to find something like a 
path to the summit of the mountain. Here she was 
compelled to pause for breath, and she improved the 
leisure by surveying the ground about her. The as- 
cent was quite abrupt, but she soon found a sheep- 
path that wound among the shelving rocks and through 
the trees, so as to render her labor much less tiresome 
than it otherwise would have been. Throwing a fear- 
ful glance behind, the determined girl commenced her 
journey upwards. Young, active, and impelled by her 
generous motive, she moved up the hill with elastic 
steps, and very soon emerged from the cover of the 
woods into an open space of more level ground, that 
had evidently been cleared of its timber for the pur- 
pose of cultivation. But either the war or the ster- 
ility of the soil had compelled the adventurer to aban- 
don the advantages that he had obtained over the 
wilderness, and already the bushes and briers were 
springhig up afresh, as if the plough had never traced 
its furrows through the mould which nourished them. 
Frances felt her spirits invigorated by these faint 
vestiges of the labor of man, and she walked up the 
gentle acclivity with renewed hopes of success. The 
path now diverged in so many different directions, 
that she soon saw it would be useless to follow their 
windings, and abandoning it, at the first turn, she 
labored forward towards what she thought was the 
nearest point of the summit. The cleared ground was 



THE SPY. 75 

soon past, and woods and rocks, clinging to tlie pre- 
cipitous sides of the mountain, again opposed them- 
selves to her progress. Occasionallj'^, the path was to 
be seen running along the verge of the clearing, and 
then striking off into the scattering patches of grass 
and herbage, but in no instance could she trace it 
upward. Tufts of wool hanging to the briers, suffi- 
iently denoted the origin of these tracks, and Frances 
rightly conjectured that whoever descended the moun- 
tain would avail himself of their existence, to lighten 
the labor. Seating herself on a stone, the wearied 
girl again paused to rest and to reflect : the clouds 
were rising before the moon, and the whole scene at 
her feet lay pictured in the softest colors. 

The white tents of the militia were stretched in 
regular lines, immediately beneath her. The light 
was shining in the window of her aunt, who, Frances 
easily fancied, was watching the mountain, racked 
with all the anxiety she might be supposed to feel for 
her niece. Lanterns were playing about in the stable- 
yard, where she knew the horses of the dragoons were 
kept, and believing them to be preparing for their 
night march, she again sprang upon her feet, and re- 
newed her toil. 

Our heroine had to ascend more than a quarter of 
a mile farther, although she had already conquered 
two thirds of the height of the mountain. But she 
was now without a path, or any guide to direct her 
in her course. Fortunately, the hill was conical, like 
most of the mountains in that range, and, by advanc- 
ing upwards, she was certain of at length reaching the 



76 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

desired liut, which hung, as it were, on the very pin- 
nacle. Nearly an hour did she struggle with the nu- 
merous difficulties that she was obliged to overcome, 
wdien, having been repeatedly exhausted with her ef- 
forts, and, in several instances, in great danger from 
falls, she succeeded in gaining the small piece of table- 
land on the summit. 

Faint with her exertions, which had been unusually 
severe for so slight a frame, she sank on a rock, to re- 
cover her strength and fortitude for the approaching 
interview. A few moments sufficed for this purpose, 
when she proceeded in quest of the hut. All of the 
neighboring hills were distinctly visible by the aid of 
the moon, and Frances was able, where she stood, to 
trace the route of the highway, from the plains into 
the mountains. B}^ following this line with her 63^68, 
she soon discovered the point whence she had seen 
the mysterious dwelling, and directly opposite to that 
point she well knew the hut must stand. 

The chilling air sighed through the leafless branches 
of the gnarled and crooked oaks, as with a step so 
liglit as hardly to rustle the dry leaves on which she 
trod, Frances moved forward to that part of the hill 
where she expected to find this secluded habitation ; 
but nothing could she discern that in the least resem- 
bled a dwelling of any sort. In vain she examined 
every recess of the rocks, or inquisitively^ explored 
every part of the summit that she thought could hold 
the tenement of the pedler. No hut, nor any vestige 
of a human being, could she trace. The idea of her 
solitude struck on the terrified mind of the affrighted 



THE SPY. 77 

girl, and approaching to the edge of a shelving rock, 
she bent forward to gaze on the signs of life in the 
vale, when a ray of keen light dazzled her e3^es, and 
a warm air diffnsed itself over her whole frame. Re- 
covering from her surprise, Frances looked on the 
ledge beneath her, and at once perceived that she 
stood directl}^ over the object of her search. A hole 
through its roof afforded a passage to the smoke, 
which, as it blew aside, showed her a clear and cheer- 
ful fire crackling and snapping on a rude hearth of 
stone. The approach to the front of the hut was by 
a winding path around the point of the rock on which 
she stood, and by this she advanced to its door. 

Three sides of this singular edifice, if such it could 
be called, were composed of logs laid alternately on 
each other, to a little more than the height of a man ; 
and the fourth was formed by the rock against which 
it leaned. The roof w^as made of the bai'k of trees, 
laid in long strips from the rock to its eaves ; the fis- 
sures between the logs had been stuffed with clay, 
which in many places had fallen out, and dried leaves 
were made use of as a substitute, to keep out the 
wind. A single window of four panes of glass was in 
front, but a board carefully closed it, in such a man- 
ner as to emit no light from the fire within. After 
pausing some time to view this singularly constructed 
hiding-place, for such Frances well knew it to be, she 
applied her eye to a crevice to examine the inside. 
There was no lamp or candle, but the blazing fire of 
dry wood made the interior of the hut light enough 
to read by. In one corner lay a bed of straw, with a 



78 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

pair of blankets thrown cai'elessly over it, as if left 
where they had last been used. Against the walls 
and rock were suspended, from pegs forced into the 
crevices, various garments, and such as were appar- 
ently fitted for all ages and conditions, and for either 
sex. British and American uniforms hung peaceably 
by the side of each other ; and on the peg that sup- 
ported a gown of striped calico, such as was the usual 
country wear, was also depending a well-powdered 
wig : in short, the attire was numerous, and as various 
as if a whole parish were to be equipped from this 
one wardrobe. 

In the angle against the rock, and opposite to the 
fire which was burning in the other corner, was an 
open cupboard, that held a plate or two, a mug, and 
the remains of some broken meat. Before the fire 
was a table, with one of its legs fractured, and made 
of rough boards ; these, with a single stool, composed 
the furniture, if we except a few articles of cooking. 
A book that, by its size and shape, appeared to be a 
Bible, was lying on the table, unopened. But it was 
the occupant of the hut in whom Frances was chiefly 
interested. This was a man, sitting on the stool, with 
his head leaning on his hand, in such a manner as to 
conceal his features, and deeply occupied in examin- 
ing some open papers. On the table lay a pair of 
curiously and richly mounted horseman's pistols, and 
the handle of a sheathed rapier, of exquisite workman- 
ship, protruded from between the legs of the gentle- 
man, one of whose hands carelessly rested on its guard. 
The tall stature of this unexpected tenant of the hut, 



THE SPY. 79 

and his form, much more athletic than that of either 
Harvey or her brother, told Frances, without the aid 
of his dress, that it was neither of those she sought. A 
close surtout was buttoned high in the throat of the 
stranger, and parting at his knees, showed breeches of 
buff, with military boots and spurs. His hair was 
dressed so as to expose the whole face ; and, after the 
fashion of that day, it was profusely powdered. A 
round hat was laid on the stones that formed a paved 
floor to the hut, as if to make room for a large map, 
which, among the other pajDers, occupied the table. 

This was an unexpected event to our adventurer. 
She had been so confident that the figure twice seen 
was the pedler, that, on learning his agency in her 
brother's escape, she did not in the least doubt of find- 
ing them both in tlie place, which, she now discov- 
ered, was occupied by another and a stranger. She 
stood, earnestly looking through the crevice, hesitat- 
ing whether to retire, or to wait with the expectation 
of 5'et meeting Henry, when, as the stranger moved 
his hand from before his eyes, and raised his face, ap- 
parently in deep musing, Frances instantly I'ecogiiized 
the benevolent and strongly marked, but composed 
features of Harper. 

All that Danwoodie had said of his power and dis- 
position, all that he had himself promised her brother, 
and all the confidence that had been created by his 
dignified and paternal riianner, rushed across the mind 
of Frances, who threw open the door of the hut, and 
falling at his feet, clasped his knees with her arms, as 
she cried, — 



80 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" Save him — save him — save my brother ; remem- 
ber 3^our promise, and save him ! " 

Harper had risen as the door opened, and there was 
a slight movement of one hand towards his pistols ; 
but it was cool and instantly checked. He raised the 
hood of the cardinal, which bad fallen over her feat- 
ures, and exclaimed, with some uneasiness, — 

" Miss Wharton ! But you cannot be alone? " 

" There is none here but my God and you ; and by 
his sacred name, I conjure you to remember your 
promise, and save my brother ! " 

Harper gently raised her from her knees, and placed 
her on the stool, begging her at the same time to be 
composed, and to acquaint him with the nature of her 
errand. This Frances instantly did, ingenuously ad- 
mitting him to a knowledge of all her views in visiting 
that lone spot at such an hour, and by herself. 

It was at all times difficult to probe the thoughts of 
one who held his passions in such disciplined subjec- 
tion as Harper, but still there was a lighting of his 
thoughtful eye, and a slight unbending of his muscles, 
as the hurried and anxious girl proceeded in her nar- 
rative. His interest, as she dwelt upon the manner of 
Henry's escape, and the flight to the woods was deep 
and manifest, and he listened to the remainder of her 
tale with a marked expression of benevolent indul- 
gence. Her apprehensions, that her brother might 
still be too late through the mountains, seemed to have 
much weight with him, for, as she concluded, he 
walked a turn or two across the hut, in silent musing. 

Frances hesitated, and unconsciously played with 



THE SPY. 81 

the handle of one of the pistols, and the paleness that 
her fears had spread over her fine features began to 
give place to a rich tint, as, after a short pause, she 
added, — 

" We can depend much on the friendship of Major 
Dunwoodie, but his sense of honor is so pure, that — 
that ^ notwithstanding his — his — feelings — his de- 
sire to serve us — he will conceive it to be his duty to 
apprehend my brother again. Besides, he thinks there 
will be no danger in so doing, as he relies greatly on 
your interference." 

" On mine ! " said Harper, raising his eyes in sur- 
prise. 

" Yes, on yours. When we told him of your kind 
language, he at once assured us all that you had the 
power, and, if you had promised, would have the incli- 
nation, to procure Henry's pardon." 

" Said he more ? " asked Harper, who appeared 
slightly uneasy. 

" Nothing but reiterated assurances of Henry's 
safety ; even now he is in quest of you." 

" Miss Wharton, that I bear no mean part, in the 
unhappy struggle between England and America, it 
might now be useless to deny. You owe your brother's 
escape, this niglit, to my knowledge of his innocence, 
and the remembrance of ray word. Major Dunwoodie 
is mistaken, when he says that I might openly have 
procured his pardon. I now, indeed, can control his 
fate, and I pledge to you a word which has some in- 
fluence with Washington that means shall be taken to 
prevent his recapture. But from you, also, I exact a 
6 



82 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

promise, that this interview and all that has passed 
between us, remain confined to your own bosom, until 
you have my permission to speak upon the subject." 

Frances gave the desired assurance, and he con- 
tinued, — 

" The pedler and your brother will soon be here, 
but I must not be seen by the royal officer, or the life 
of Birch might be the forfeiture." 

" Never ! " cried Frances, ardently ; " Henry could 
never be so base as to betray the man who saved him." 

" It is no childish game that we are now playing, 
Miss Wharton. Men's lives and fortunes hang upon 
slender threads, and nothing must be left to accident 
that can be guarded against. Did Sir Henry Clinton 
know that the pedler had communion with me, and 
under such circumstances, the life of the miserable man 
would be taken instantly ; therefore, as you value 
human blood, or remember the rescue of your brother, 
be prudent, and be silent. Communicate what you 
know to them both, and urge them to instant depart- 
ure. If they can reach the last pickets of our army 
before morning, it shall be my care that there are none 
to intercept them. There is better work for Major 
Dunwoodie than to be exposing the life of his friend." 

While Harper was speaking, he carefully rolled up 
the map he had been studying, and placed it, together 
with sundry papers, that were also open, into his 
pocket. He was still occupied in this manner, when 
the voice of the pedler, talking in unusually loud tones, 
was heard directly over their heads. 

"Stand farther this way, Captain Wharton, and 



THE SPY. 83 

you can see the tents in the moonshine. But let them 
mount and ride ; I have a nest, here, that will hold us 
both, and we will go in at our leisure." 

" And where is this nest ? I confess that I have 
eaten but little the last two days, and I crave some of 
the cheer you mention." 

" Hem ! " said the pedlei*, exerting his voice still 
more; "hem — this fog has given me a cold; but 
move slow — and be careful not to slip, or you may 
land on the bayonet of the sentinel on the flats ; 't is a 
steep hill to rise, but one can go down it with ease." 

Harper pressed his finger on his lip to remind Fran- 
ces of her promise, and, taking his pistols and hat, so 
that no vestige of his visit remained, he retii-ed delib- 
erately to a far corner of the hut, where, lifting several 
articles of dress, he entered a recess in the rock, and, 
letting them fall again, was hid from view. Frances 
noticed, by the strong firelight, as he entered, that it 
was a natural cavity, and contained nothing but a few 
more articles of domestic use. 

The surprise of Henry and the pedler, on entering 
and finding Frances in possession of the hut, may be 
easily imagined. Without waiting for explanations 
or questions, the warm-hearted girl flew into the arms 
of her brother, and gave a vent to her emotions in 
tears. But the pedler seemed struck with very dif- 
ferent feelings. His first look was at the fire, which 
had been recently supplied with fuel ; he then drew 
open a small drawer of the table, and looked a little 
alarmed at finding it empty. 

" Are you alone, Miss Fanny ? " he asked, in a 
, quick voice ; " you did not come here alone ? " 



84 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

"As you see me, Mr. Birch," said Frances, raising 
herself from her brother's arms, and turning an ex- 
pressive glance towards the secret cavern, that the 
quick eye of the pedler instantly understood. 

" But why and wherefore are you here ? " ex- 
claimed her astonished brother ; " and how knew you 
of this place at all ? " 

Frances entered at once into a brief detail of what 
had occurred at the house since their departure, and 
the motives which induced her to seek them. 

" But," said Birch, " why follow us here, when we 
were left on the opposite hill ? " 

Frances related the glimpse that she had caught of 
the hut and pedler, in her passage through the High- 
lands, as well as her view of hiui on that day, and her 
immediate conjecture that the fugitives would seek 
the shelter of this habitation for the night. Birch 
examined her features as, with open ingenuousness, 
she related the simple incidents that had mnde her 
mistress of his secret ; and, as she ended, he sprang 
upon his feet, and, striking the window with the stick 
in his hand, demolished it at a blow. 

" 'T is but little luxury or comfort that I know," he 
said, " but even that little cannot be enjoyed in safety ! 
Miss Wharton," he added, advancing before Fanny, 
and speaking with the bitter melancholy that was 
common to him, " I am hunted through these hills 
like a beast of the forest ; but whenever, tired with 
my toils, I can reach this spot, poor and dreary as it 
is, I can spend my solitary nights in safety. Will 
you aid to make the life of a wretch still more mis- 
erable ? " 



THE SPY. 85 

" Never ! " cried Frances, with fervor ; " your se- 
cret is safe with me." 

The pedler seemed satisfied ; for he drew back, and, 
watching his opportunity, unseen by Henry, shpped 
behind the screen, and entered the cavern. 

Frances and her brother, who thought his compan- 
ion had passed through the door, continued conversing 
on the hitter's situation for several minutes, when the 
former urged tlie necessity of expedition on his part, 
in order to precede Dunwoodie, from whose sense of 
duty they knew they had no escape. The captain 
took out his pocket-book, and wrote a few lines with 
his pencil ; then folding the paper, lie handed it to his 
sister. 

" Frances," he said, " you have this night proved 
yourself to be an incomparable woman. As you love 
me, give that unopened to Dunwoodie, and remember 
that two hours may save my life." 

" I will — I will ; but Avhy delay ? Why not fly, 
and improve these precious moments ? " 

" Your sister says well, Captain Wharton," ex- 
claimed Harvey, who had reentered unseen ; " we 
must go at once. Here is food to eat as we travel." 

" But who is to see this fair creature in safety ? " 
cried the captain. " I can never desert my sister in 
such a place as this." 

" Leave me ! leave me ! " said Frances ; " I can de- 
scend as I came up. Do not doubt me ; you know 
not my courage nor my strength." 

" I have not known you, dear girl, it is true ; but 
now, as I learn your value, can I quit you here? 
Never, never ! " 



86 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" Captain Wharton," said Birch, throwing open 
the door, " you can trifle with 3'our own lives, if you 
have many to spare ; I have but one, and must nurse 
it. Do I go alone, or not ? " 

" Go, go, dear Henry," said Frances, embracing 
him ; " go ; remember our father ; remember Sarah." 
She Avaited not for his answer, but gently forced him 
through the door, and closed it with her own hands. 

For a short time there was a warm debate between 
Henry and the pedler ; but the latter finally pre- 
vailed, and the breathless girl heard the successive 
plunges, as they went down the sides of the mountain 
at a rapid rate. 

Immediately after the noise of their departure had 
ceased, Harper reappeared. He took the arm of 
Frances in silence, and led her from the hut. The 
way seemed familiar to him ; for, ascending to the 
ledge above them, he led his companion across the 
table-land tenderly, pointing out the little difficulties 
in their route, and cautioning her against injury. 

Frances felt, as she walked by the side of this ex- 
traordinary man, that slie was supported by one of no 
common stamp. The firmness of his step, and the 
composure of his manner, seemed to indicate a mind 
settled and resolved. By taking a route over the back 
of the hill, they descended with great expedition, and 
but little danger. The distance it had taken Frances 
an hour to conquer was passed by Harper and his 
companion in ten minutes, and they entered the open 
space already mentioned. He struck into one of the 
sheep-paths, and, crossing the clearing with rapid 



THE SPY. 87 

steps, they came suddenly upon a horse, capaiisoned 
for a rider of no mean rank. The noble beast snorted 
and pawed the earth, as his master approached and 
replaced his pistols in the holsters. 

Harper then turned, and, taking the hand of Fran- 
ces, spoke as follows : — 

" You have this night saved your brother. Miss 
Wharton. It would not be proper for me to explain 
why there are limits to my ability to serve him ; but 
if you can detain the horse for two hours, he is assur- 
edly safe. After wdiat you have already done, I can 
believe you equal to any duty. God has denied to me 
children, young lady ; but if it had been his blessed 
will that my marriage should not have been childless, 
such a treasure as yourself would I have asked from 
his mercy. But you are my child : all who dwell in 
this broad land are my children, and my care ; ^nd 
take the blessing of one who hopes yet to meet you 
in happier days." 

As he spoke, with a solemnity that touched Frances 
to the heart, he laid his hand impressively upon her 
head. The guileless girl turned her face towards him, 
and the hood again falling back, exposed her lovely 
features to the moonbeams. A tear was glistening on 
either cheek, and her mild blue eyes were gazing upon 
him in reverence. Harper bent and pressed a pater- 
nal kiss upon her forehead, and continued, " Any of 
these sheep-paths will take you to the plain ; but here 
we must part ; I have much to do, and far to ride ; 
forget me in all but your prayers." 

He then mounted his horse, and lifting his hat, rode 



88 J. FENIMOBE COOPER. 

towards the back of the mountain, descending at the 
same time, and was soon hid by the trees. Frances 
sprang forward with a lightened heart, and taking the 
first path that led downwards, in a few minutes she 
reached the plain in safety. While busied in stealing 
through the meadows towards the house, the noise 
of horse approaching startled her, and she felt how 
much more was to be apprehended from man, in some 
situations, than from solitude. Hiding her form in 
the angle of a fence near the road, she remained quiet 
for a moment, and watched their passage. A small 
party of dragoons, whose dress was different from the 
Virginians, passed at a bi-isk trot. They were fol- 
lowed by a gentleman, enveloped in a large cloak, 
whom she at once knew to be Harper. Behind him 
rode a black in livery, and two youths in uniform 
brought up the rear. Instead of taking the road that 
led by the encampment, they turned short to the left, 
and entered the hills. 

Wondering who this unknown but powerful friend 
of her brother could be, Frances glided across the 
fields, and using due precautions in approaching the 
dwelling, regained her residence undiscovered and in 
safety. 



THE SPY. 89 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Hence, bashful cunniug ! 
And prompt me, plain aud holy innocence ; 
I am youx" wife, if you will marry me- 

Tempest. 

On joining Miss Peyton, Frances learnt that Dun- 
wooclie was not yet returned ; although, with a view 
to relieve Henry from the importunities of the sup- 
posed fanatic, he had desired a very respectable divine 
of their own church to ride up from the river and 
offer his services. This gentleman was already arrived, 
and had been passing the half-hour he had been there 
in a sensible and well-bred conversation with the 
spinster, that in no degree touched u]3on their domes- 
tic affairs. 

To the eager inquiries of Miss Peyton relative to 
her success in her romantic excursion, Frances could 
say no more than that she was bound to be silent, and 
to recommend the same precaution to the good maiden 
also. There was a smile playing around the beauti- 
ful mouth of Frances, while she uttered this injunc- 
tion, which satisfied her aunt that all was as it should 
be. She was urging her niece to take some refresh- 
ment after her fatiguing expedition, when the noise 
of a horseman riding to the door announced the re- 
turn of the major. He had been found by the courier 
who was dispatched by Mason, impatiently waiting 
the return of Harper to the ferry, and immediately 
flew to the place where his friend had been confined, 
tormented by a thousand conflicting fears. The heart 



90 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

of Frances bounded as slie listened to his approaching 
footsteps. It wanted yet an hour to the termination 
of the shortest period that the pedler had fixed as the 
time necessary to effect his escape. Even Harper, 
powerful and well-disposed as he acknowledged him- 
self to be, had laid great stress upon the importance 
of detaining the Virginians during that hour. She, 
however, had not time to rally her thoughts, before 
Dunwoodie entered one door, as Miss Peyton, with 
the readiness of female instinct, retired through an- 
other. 

The countenance of Peyton was flushed, and an air 
of vexation and disappointment pervaded his man- 
ner. 

" 'T was imprudent, Frances ; nay, it was unkind," 
he cried, throwing himself in a chair, " to fly at the 
very moment that I assured him of safety ! I can 
almost persuade myself that you delight in creating 
points of difference in our feelings and duties." 

"In our duties there may very possibly be a differ- 
ence," returned his mistress, approaching, and leaning 
her slender form against the wall ; " but not in our 
feelings, Peyton. You must certainly rejoice in the 
escape of Henry ! " 

" There was no danger impending. He had the 
l^romise of Harper ; and it is a word never to be 
doubted. Oh, Frances ! Frances ! had you known 
the man, you would never have distrusted his assur- 
ance ; nor would you have again reduced me to this 
distressing alternative." 

" What alternative ? " asked Frances, pitying his 



THE SPY. 91 

emotions deeply, but eagerly seizing upon every cir- 
cumstance to prolong the interview. 

" What alternative ! am I not compelled to spend 
this night in the saddle to recapture your brother, 
when I had thought to lay my head on its pillow with 
the happy consciousness of having contributed to his 
release ? You make me seem your enemy ; I, who 
would cheerfully shed the last drop of blood in your 
service. I repeat, Frances, it was rash ; it was un- 
kind; it was a sad, sad mistake." 

She bent towards him and timidly took one of his 
hands, while with the other she gently removed the 
curls from his burning brow. 

" Why go at all, dear Peyton ? " she asked. " You 
have done much for your country, and she cannot ex- 
act such a sacrifice as this at your hand." 

" Frances ! Miss Wharton ! " exclaimed the youth, 
springing on his feet, and pacing the floor with -a 
cheek that burnt through its brown covering, and an 
eye that sparkled with wounded integrity; "it is not 
my country, but my honor, that requires the sacrifice. 
Has he not fled from a guard of my own corps ? But 
for this, I might have been spared the blow ! But if 
the eyes of the Virginians are blinded to deception and 
artifice, their horses are swift of foot, and their sabres 
keen. We shall see, before to-morrow's sun, who will 
presume to hint that the beauty of the sister furnished 
a mask to conceal the brother ! Yes, yes ; I should 
like, even now," he continued, laughing bitterly, " to 
hear the villain who would dare to surmise that such 
treachery existed ! " 



92 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" Peyton, dear Peyton," said Frances, recoiling from 
his angry eye, " you curdle my blood — would you 
kill my brother ? " 

" Would I not die for him ! " exclaimed Diinwoodie, 
as he turned to her more mildly ; " you know I would ; 
but I am distracted with the cruel surmise to which 
this step of Henry's subjects me. What will Wash- 
ington think of me, should he learn that I ever be- 
came your husband? " 

"If that alone impels you to act so harshly towards 
my brother," returned Frances, with a slight tremor 
in her voice, " let it never happen for him to learn." 

" And this is consolation, Frances ! " 

" Nay, dear Dunwoodie, I meant nothing harsh or 
unkind ; but are you not making us both of more 
consequence with Washington than the truth will 
justify?" 

" I trust that my name is not entirely unknown to 
the commander-in-chief," said the major, a little 
proudly ; " nor are you as obscure as your modesty 
w^ould make you. I believe you, Frances, when you 
say that you pity me, and it must be my task to con- 
tinue worthy of such feelings. But I waste the precious 
moments; we must go through the hills to-night, that 
we may be refreshed in time for the duty of to-mor- 
row. ]\Iason is already Avaiting my orders to mount. 
Frances, I leave you with a heavy heart ; pity me, 
but feel no concern for your brother ; he must again 
become a prisoner, but every hair of his head is sa- 
cred." 

"Stop! Dunwoodie, I conjure you," cried Frances, 



THE SPY. 93 

gasping for breath, as she noticed that the hand of the 
clock still wanted many minutes to the desired hour ; 
" before you go on your errand of fastidious duty, read 
this note that Henry has left for you, and which, 
doubtless, he thought he was writing to the friend of 
his youth." 

" Frances, I excuse your feelings ; but the time 
will come when you will do me justice." 

" That time is now," she answered, extending her 
hand, unable any longer to feign a disj^leasure that 
she did not feel. 

" Where got you this note?" exclaimed the youth, 
glancing his eyes over its contents. " Poor Henrj^ 
you are indeed my friend ! If any one wishes me 
happiness, it is you ! " 

"He does, he does," cried Frances, eagerly; "he 
wishes you every happiness ; believe what he tells 
you ; every word is true." 

" I do believe him, lovely girl, and he refers me to 
you for its confirmation. Would that I could trust 
equally to your affections ! " 

" You may, Peyton," said Frances, looking up with 
innocent confidence towards her lover. 

" Then read for yourself, and verify your words," 
interrupted Dunwoodie, holding the note towards her. 

Frances received it in astonishment, and read the 
following : — 

" Life is too precious to be trusted to uncertainties, 
I leave you, Peyton, unknown to all but Caesar, and I 
recommend him to your mercy. But there is a care 



94 /. FENIMORE COOPER. 

that weighs me to the eai'th. Look at ray aged and 
infirm parent. He will be reproached for the sup- 
posed crime of his son. Look at those helpless sisters 
that I leave behind me without a protector. Prove 
to me that you love us all. Let the clergyman whom 
you will bring with you unite you this night to Fran- 
ces, and become at once brother, son, and husband." 

The paper fell from the hands of Frances, and she 
endeavored to raise her eyes to the face of Dunwoodie, 
but they sank abashed to the floor. 

" Am I worthy of this confidence ? Will you send 
me out this night to meet my own brother ? or will 
it be the officer of Congress in quest of the officer of 
Britain ? " 

" And would you do less of your duty because I am 
your wife. Major Dunwoodie ? in what degree would 
it better the condition of Henry ? " 

" Henry, I repeat, is safe. The word of Harper is 
his guarantee ; but I will show the world a bride- 
groom," continued the youth, perhaps deceiving him- 
self a little, " who is equal to the duty of arresting the 
brother of his bride." 

" And will the world comprehend this refinement ? " 
said Frances, with a musing air, that lighted a thou- 
sand hopes in the bosom of her lover. In fact the 
temptation was miglity. Indeed, there seemed no 
other way to detain Dunwoodie until the fatal hour 
had elapsed. The words of Harper himself, who had 
so lately told her that openly he could do but little for 
Henry, and that everything depended upon gaining 



THE SPY. ' 95 

time, were deeply engraved upon her memory. Per- 
haps there was also a fleeting thought of the possibility 
of an eternal separation from her lover, should he pro- 
ceed and bring back her brother to punishment. It is 
difficult at all times to analyze human emotions, and 
they pass through the sensitive heart of a woman with 
the rapidity and nearly with the vividness of lightning. 

" Why do you hesitate, dear Frances ? " cried Dun- 
woodie, who was studying her varying countenance ; 
" a few minutes might give me a husband's claim to 
protect you." 

Frances grew giddy. She turned an anxious eye to 
the clock, and the hand seemed to linger over its face, 
as if with intent to torture her. 

" Speak Frances," murmured Dunwoodie ; " may I 
summon my good kinswoman? determine, for time 
presses." 

She endeavored to reply, but could only whisper 
something that was inaudible, but which her lover, 
with the privilege of immemorial custom, construed 
into assent. He turned and flew to the door, when 
his mistress recovered her voice : — 

" Stop, Peyton ! I cannot enter into such a solemn 
engagement with a fraud upon my conscience. I have 
seen Henry since his escape, and time is all-important 
to him. Here is my hand ; if, with this knowledge of 
the consequences of delay, you will not reject it, it is 
freely yours." 

" Reject it ! " cried the delighted youth ; " I take it 
as the richest gift of Heaven. There is time enough 
for us all. Two hours will take me through the hills ; 



96 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

and by noon, to-morrow, I will return with Washing- 
ton's pardon for your brother, and Henry will help to 
enliven our nuptials." 

"Then meet me here, in ten minutes," said Prances, 
greatly relieved by unburdening her mind, and filled 
with the hope of securing Henry's safety, " and I will 
return and take those vows which will bind me to you 
forever." 

Dunwoodie paused only to press her once to his 
bosom, and flew to communicate his wishes to the 
priest. 

Miss Peyton received the avowal of her niece with 
infinite astonishment, and a little displeasure. It was 
violating all the order and decorum of a wedding to 
get it up so hastily, and with so little ceremony. But 
Frances, with modest firmness, declared that her reso- 
lution was taken ; she had long possessed the consent 
of her friends, and their nuptials, for months, had 
only waited her pleasure. She had now promised 
Dunwoodie, and it was her wish to comply ; more she 
dare not say without committing herself, by entering 
into explanations that might endanger Birch or Har- 
per, or both. Unused to contention, and really much 
attached to her kinsman, the feeble objections of Miss 
Peyton gave way to the firmness of her niece. Mr. 
Wharton was too completely a convert to the doctrine 
of passive obedience and non-resistance, to withstand 
any solicitation from an officer of Dunwoodie's influ- 
ence in the rebel armies ; and the maid returned to 
the apartment, accompanied by her father and aunt, 
at the expiration of the time that she had fixed. 



THE SPY.' 97 

Dimwoodie and the clergj'man were already there. 
Frances, silently, and without the affectation of re- 
serve, placed in his hand the wedding-ring of her OAvn 
mother, and after some little time spent in arranging 
Mr. Wharton and herself. Miss Peyton suffered the 
ceremony to proceed. 

The clock stood directly before the eyes of Frances, 
and she turned many an anxious glance at the dial ; 
but the solemn language of the priest soon caught her 
attention, and her mind became intent upon the vows 
she was uttering. The ceremony was quickly over, 
and as the clergyman closed the words of benediction, 
the clock told the hour of nine. This Avas the time 
that Harj)er had deemed so important, and Frances 
felt as if a mighty load was at once removed from her 
heart. 

Dunwoodie folded her in his arms, saluted the mild 
aunt again and again, and shook Mr. Wharton and 
the divine repeatedly by the hands. In the midst of 
the felicitation, a tap was heard at the door. It was 
opened, and Mason appeared. 

" We are in the saddle," said the lieutenant, " and, 
with your permission, I will lead on ; as you are so 
well mounted, you can overtake us at your leisure." 

" Yes, yes, my good fellow ; march," cried Dun- 
woodie, gladly seizing an excuse to linger ; "I will 
reach you at the first halt." 

The subaltern retired to execute these orders ; he 
was followed by Mr. Wharton and the divine, 

" Now, Peyton," said Frances, " it is indeed a 
brother that you seek ; I am sure I need not cau- 



98 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

tion you in his behalf, should you unfortunately find 
him." 

" Say fortunately," cried the youth ; " for I am de- 
termined he shall yet dance at my wedding. Would 
that I could win him to our cause ! it is the cause of 
his country ; and I could fight with more pleasure, 
Frances, with your brother by my side." 

" Oh, mention it not ! you awaken terrible reflec- 
tions." 

" I will not mention it," returned her husband ; 
"but I must now leave you. But the sooner I go, 
Frances, the sooner I shall return." 

The noise of a horseman was heard approaching the 
house, and Dunwoodie was yet taking leave of his 
bride and her aunt, when an officer was shown into the 
room by his own man. 

The gentleman wore the dress of an aide-de-camp, 
and the major at once knew him to be one of the mil- 
itary family of Washington. 

" Major Dunwoodie," he said, after bowing to the 
ladies, " the commander-in-chief has directed me to 
give you these orders." 

He executed his mission, and, pleading duty, took 
his leave immediately. 

" Here, indeed," cried the major, " is an unexpected 
turn in the whole affair ! but I understand it ; Harper 
has got my letter, and already we feel his influence." 

" Have you news afliecting Henry ? " cried Frances, 
springing to his side. 

" Listen, and you shall judge." 



THE SPY. 99 

" Sir, — Upon the receipt of this you Avill concen- 
■ trate your squadron so as to be in front of a covering 
party which the enemy has sent up in front of his for- 
agers, by ten o'clock to-morrow, on the heights of Cro- 
ton, where you will find a body of foot to support you. 
The escape of the English spy has been reported to 
me, but his arrest is unimportant compared with the 
duty I now assign you. You will therefore recall 
your men, if any are in pursuit, and endeavor to defeat 
the enemy forthwith. 

*' Your obedient servant, 

" Geo. Washington." 

" Thank God ! " cried Dunwoodie, " my hands are 
washed of Henry's recapture ; I can now move to my 
duty with honor." 

" And with prudence too, dear Peyton," said Fran- 
ces, with a face as pale as death; "remember, Di^m- 
woodie, you leave behind you new claims on your 
life." 

The youth dwelt on her lovely but pallid features 
■with rapture ; and, as he folded her to his heart ex- 
claimed, — 

" For your sake, I will, lovely innocent ! " Frances 
sobbed a moment on his bosom, and he tore himself 
from her presence. 

Miss Peyton retired with her niece, to "whom she 
conceived it necessary, before they separated for the 
night, to give an admonitory lecture on the subject of 
matrimonial duty. Her instruction was modestly 
received, if not properly digested. We regret that 



100 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

history Las not handed down to us this precious "disser- 
tation ; but the result of all our investigation has been 
to learn that it partook largely of those peculiarities 
which are said to tincture the rules prescribed to gov- 
ern bachelors' children. We shall now leave the ladies 
of the Wharton family, and return to Captain Whar- 
ton and Harvey Birch. 



CHAPTER XXXn. 



The pedler and his companion soon reached the 
valley, and after pausing to listen, and hearing no 
sounds which announced that pursuers were abroad, 
they entered the highway. Acquainted with every 
step that led through the mountains, and possessed of 
sinews inured to toil, Birch led the way, with the 
lengthened strides that were peculiar to the man and 
his profession ; his pack alone was wanting to finish 
the appearance of his ordinary business air. At times, 
when they approached one of those little posts held 
by the American troops, with which the Highlands 
abounded, he would take a circuit to avoid the senti- 
nels, and plunge fearlessly into a thicket, or ascend a 
rugged hill, that to the eye seemed impassable. But 
the pedler was familiar with every turn in their diffi- 
cult route, knew w^iere the ravines might be pene- 
trated, or where the streams were fordable. In one 
or two instances, Henry thought that their further 
progress- was absolutely at an end, but the ingenuity, 



THE SPY. 101 

or knowledge, of his guide conquered every difficulty. 
After walking at a great rate for three hours, they 
suddenly diverged from the road, which inclined to the 
east, and held their course directly across the hills, in 
a due south direction. This movement was made, the 
pedler informed his companion, in order to avoid the 
parties who constantly patrolled in the southern en- 
trance of the Highlands, as well as to shorten the 
distance, by travelling in a straight line. After reach- 
ing the summit of a hill, Harvey seated himself by 
the side of a little run, and opening a wallet that he 
had slung where his pack was commonly suspended, 
he invited his coinrade to partake of the coarse fare 
it contained. Henry had kept pace with the pedler, 
more by the excitement natural to his situation than 
by the equality of his physical powers. The idea 
of a lialt was unpleasant, so long as there existed a 
possibility of the horse getting below him in time to 
intercept their retreat through the neutral ground. 
He therefore stated his apprehensions to his compan- 
ion, and urged a wish to proceed. 

" Follow my example. Captain Wharton," said the 
j)edler, commencing his frugal meal ; " if the horse 
have started, it will be more than man can do to head 
them ; and if they have not, work is cut out for them 
that will drive all thoughts of yxDU and me from their 
brains." 

" You said yourself that two hours' detention was 
all-important to us, and if Ave loiter here, of what use 
will be the advantage that we may have already ob- 
tained ? " 



102 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" The time is past, and Major Dunwoodie thinks 
little of following two men, when hundreds are wait- 
ing for him on the banks of the river." 

" Listen ! " interrupted Henry ; " there are horse at 
this moment passing the foot of the hill. I hear them 
even laughing and talking to each other. Hist! there 
is the voice of Dunwoodie himself ; he calls to his 
comrade in a manner that shows but little uneasiness. 
One would think that the situation of his friend would 
lower his spirits ; surely Frances could not have given 
him the letter." 

On hearing the first exclamation of the captain. 
Birch arose from his seat, and approached cautiously 
to the brow of the hill, taking care to keep his body 
in the shadow of the rocks, so as to be unseen at 
any distance, and earnestly reconnoitred the group of 
passing horsemen. He continued listening, until their 
quick footsteps were no longer audible, and then qui- 
etly returned to his seat, and with incomparable cool- 
ness resumed his meal. 

"You have a long walk, and a tiresome one, before 
you. Captain Wharton ; you had better do as I do ; 
you were eager for food at the hut above Fishkill, but 
travelling seems to have worn down your appetite." 

" I thought myself safe, then, but the information 
of my sister fills me with uneasiness, and I cannot 
eat." 

" You have less reason to be troubled now than at 
any time since the night before you were taken, when 
you refused my advice, and an offer to see you in, in 
safety," returned the pedler. " Major Dunwoodie is 



THE SPY. 103 

not a man to laugli and be gay, when his friend is in 
difficulty. Come, then, and eat, for no horse will be 
in our way, if we can hold our legs for four hours 
longer, and the sun keeps behind the hills as long as 
common." 

There was a composure in the pedler's manner that 
encouraged his companion ; and having once deter- 
mined to submit to Harvey's government, he suffered 
himself to be persuaded into a tolerable sujoper, if 
quantity be considered without any reference to the 
quality. After completing their repast, the pedler 
resumed his journey. 

Henry followed in blind submission to his will. For 
two hours more they struggled with the difficult and 
dangerous passes of the Highlands, without road, or 
any other guide than the moon, which was travelling 
the heavens, now wading through flying clouds, and 
now shining brightly. At length they arrived at a 
point where the mountains sunk into rough and un- 
equal hillocks, and passed at once from the barren 
sterility of the precipices to the imperfect culture of 
the neutral ground. 

The pedler now became more guarded in the man- 
ner in which they proceeded, and took divers precau- 
tions to prevent meeting any moving parties of the 
Americans. With the stationary posts he was too 
familiar to render it probable he might fall upon any 
of them unawares. He wound among the hills and 
vales, now keeping the highways and now avoiding 
them, with a precision that seemed instinctive. There 
was nothing elastic in his tread, but he glided over 



104 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

the ground with enormous strides, and a body bent 
forward, without appearing to use exertion or know 
weariness. 

The moon had set. and a faint streak of light was 
beginning to show itself in the east. Captain Whar- 
ton ventured to express a sense of fatigue, and to in- 
quire if they were not yet arrived at a part of the 
country where it might be safe to apply at some of 
the farm-houses for admission. 

" See here," said the pedler, pointing to a hill at a 
short distance in their rear ; " do you not see a man 
walking on the point of that rock ? Turn, so as to 
bring the daylight in the range — now, see, he moves, 
and seems to be looking earnestly at something to the 
eastward. That is a royal sentinel ; two hundred of 
the rig'lar troops lay on that hill, no doubt sleeping 
on their arms." 

" Then," cried Henry, " let us join them, and our 
danger is ended." 

" Softly, softl}^. Captain Wharton," said the pedler, 
dryly, " you 've once been in the midst of three hun- 
dred of them, but there was a man who could take 
you out; see you not yon dark body, on the side of the 
opposite hill, just above the corn-stalks? There are 
the — the rebels (since that is the word for us loyal 
subjects), waiting only for day, to see who will be 
master of the ground." 

" Nay, then," exclaimed the fiery youth, " I will 
join the troops of my prince, and share their fortune, 
be it good or be it bad." 

" You forget that you fight with a halter round your 



THE SPY. 105 

neck ; no, no, — I have promised one whom I must not 
disappoint to carry you safe in ; and unless you forget 
wliat I. have already done, and what I have risked for 
you, Captain Wharton, j^ou will turn and follow me 
to Harlaem." 

To this appeal the youth felt unwillingly obliged to 
submit ; and they continued their course towards the 
city. It was not long before they gained the banks of 
the Hudson. After searching for a short time under 
the shore, the pedler discovered a skiff that appeared to 
be an old acquaintance ; and entering it with his com- 
panion, he landed him on the south side of the Croton. 
Here Birch declared they were in safety ; for the ro3^al 
troops held the continentals at bay, and the former 
were out in too great strength for the light parties of 
the latter to trust themselves below that river, on the 
immediate banks of the Hudson. 

Throughout the whole of this arduous flight, the 
pedler had manifested a coolness and presence of mind 
that nothing appeared to disturb. All his faculties 
seemed to be of more than usual perfection, and the in- 
firmities of nature to have no dominion over him. 
Henry had followed him like a child in leading-strings, 
and he now reaped his reward, as he felt a bound of 
pleasure at his heart, on hearing that he was relieved 
from apprehension, and permitted to banish every 
doubt of secui'ity. 

A steep and laborious ascent brought them from the 
level of the tide-waters to the high lands that form, in 
this part of the river, the eastern banks of the Hudson. 
Retiring a little from the highway, under the shelter of 



106 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

a thicket of cedars, the pecllei- threw his form on a flat 
rock, and announced to his companion that the hour 
for rest and refreshment was at length arrived. The 
day was now opened, and objects could be seen in the 
distance with distinctness. Beneath them lay the 
Hudson, stretching to the south in a straight line, as 
far as the. eye could reach. To the north, the broken 
fragments of the Highlands threw upwards their lofty 
heads, above masses of fog that hung over the watei*, 
and by which the course of the river could be traced 
into the bosom of hills whose conical summits were 
grouping together, one behind another, in that disor- 
der which might be supposed to have succeeded their 
gigantic, but fruitless, efforts to stop the progress of 
the- flood. Emerging from these confused piles, the 
river, as if rejoicing at its release from the struggle, 
expanded into a wide bay, which was ornamented by 
a few fertile and low points that jutted humbly into 
its broad basin. On the opposite, or western shore, 
the rocks of Jersey were gathered into an array that 
has obtained for them the name of the " Palisades," 
elevating themselves for many hundred feet, as if to 
protect the rich country in their rear from the inroads 
of the conqueror ; but, disdaining such an enemy, the 
river swept proudly by their feet, and held its undevi- 
ating way to the ocean. A ray of the rising sun darted 
upon the slight cloud that hung over the placid river, 
and at once the whole scene was in motion, changing 
and assuming new forms, and exhibiting fresh objects 
in each successive moment. At the daily rising of 
this great curtain of nature, at the present time, scores 



THE SPY. 107 

of white sails and slnggisli vessels are seen thickening 
on the water, with that air of life which denotes the 
neighborhood to the metropolis of a great and flourish- 
ing empire ; but to Henry and the pedler it displayed 
only the square yards and lofty masts of a vessel of war, 
riding a few miles below them. Before the fog had 
begun to move, the tall spars were seen above it, and 
from one of them a long pennant was feebly borne 
abroad in the current of night air, that still quivered 
along the river ; but as the smoke arose, the black hull, 
the crowded and complicated mass of rigging, and the 
heavy yards and booms, spreading their arms afar, were 
successively brought into view. 

" There, Captain Wharton," said the pedler, " there 
is a safe resting-place for you ; America lias no arm 
that can reach you, if j^ou gain the deck of that ship. 
She is sent up to cover the foragers, and support the 
troops ; the rig'lar officers are fond of the sound bf 
cannon from their shipping." 

Without condescending to reply to the sarcasm con- 
veyed in this speech, or perhaps not noticing it, Henry 
joyfully acquiesced in the proposal, and it was accord- 
ingly arranged between them, that, as soon as they 
were refreshed, he should endeavor to get on board the 
vessel. 

While busily engaged in the very indispensable 
operation of breaking their fast, our adventurers were 
startled with the sound of distant fire-arms. At first a 
few scattering shots were fired, which were succeeded 
by a long and animated roll of musketry, and then 
quick and heavy volleys followed each other. 



108 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" Your propliecy is made good," cried the English 
officer, springing upon his feet. " Our troops and the 
rebels are at it! I would give six months' pay to see 
the charge." 

" Umph ! " returned his companion, without ceasing 
his meal ; " they do very well to look at from a dis- 
tance ; I can't say but the company of this bacon, cold 
as it is, is more to my taste, just now, than a hot fire 
from the continentals." 

" The discharges are heavy for so small a force ; 
but the fire seems irregular." 

" The scattering guns are from the Connecticut 
militia," said Harvey, raising his head to listen ; 
" they rattle it off finely, and are no fools at a mark. 
The volleys are the rig'lars, who, you know, fire by 
word — as long as they can." 

" I like not the warmth of what you call a scatter- 
ing fire," exclaimed the captain, moving about with 
uneasiness ; " it is more like the roll of a drum than 
the shooting of skirmishers." 

" No, no, I said not skrimmagers," returned the 
other, raising himself upon a knee, and ceasing to eat ; 
" so long as they stand, they are too good for the best 
troops in the royal army. Each man does his work as 
if fighting by the job ; and then, they think while they 
fight, and don't send bullets among the clouds, that 
were meant to kill men upon earth." 

" You talk and look, sir, as if you wished them suc- 
cess," said Henry, sternly. 

" I wish success to the good cause only. Captain 
Wharton. I thought you knew me too well to be un- 
certain which party I favored." 



THE SPY. 109 

" Oh ! you are reputed loyal, Mr. Bircb. But the 
volleys have ceased ! " 

Both uow listened intently for a little while, during 
which the irregular reports became less brisk, and sud- 
denl}^ heavy and repeated volleys followed. 

"They've been at the bayonet," said the pedler; 
" the rig'lars have tried the bayonet, and the rebels are 
driven." 

" Aye, Mr. Birch, the bayonet is the thing for the 
British soldier, after all. They delight in the bayo- 
net ! " 

" Well, to my notion," said the pedler, " there 'a 
but little delight to be taken in any such fearful 
weapon. I dare say the militia are of my mind, for 
half of them don't carry the ugly things. Lord ! 
Lord ! captain, I wish you 'd go with me once into the 
rebel camp, and hear what lies the men will tell 
about Bunker Hill and Burg'yne ; you 'd think they 
loved the bayonet as much as they do their dinners." 

There was a chuckle, and an air of affected innocency 
about his companion, that rather annoyed Henry, and 
he did not deign to reply. 

The firing now became desultory, occasionally inter- 
mingled with heavy volleys. 

By following the bank of the river. Birch led the 
way free from observation, until they reached the 
point opposite to the frigate, when, by making a sig- 
nal, a boat was induced to approach. Some time was 
spent, and much precaution used, before the seamen 
would trust themselves ashore ; but Henry having 
finally succeeded in making the officer who com- 



110 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

mandecl the party credit his assertions, he was able to 
rejoin Iiis companions in arms in safety. Before tak- 
ing leave of Birch, the captain handed him his purse, 
which was tolerably well supplied for the times. 

The boat pulled from the shore, and Birch turned 
on his heel, drawing his breath, like one relieved, and 
shot up the hills with the strides for which he was 
famous. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Green be the turf above thee, 
Friend of my better days ; 

None knew thee but to love thee, 
None named thee but to praise. 



Halleck. 



While the scenes and events that we have recorded 
were occurring, Captain Lawton led his small party, 
by slow and wary marches, from the Four Corners to 
the front of a body of the enemy ; where he so suc- 
cessfully manojuvred, for a short time, as completely 
to elude all their efforts to entrap him, and yet so 
disguised his own force as to excite the constant ap- 
prehension of an attack from the Americans. This 
forbearing policy, on the side of the partisan was 
owing to positive orders received from his commander. 
When Dunwoodie left his detachment, the enemy 
were known to be slowly advancing, and he directed 
Lawton to hover around them, until his own return, 
and the arrival of a body of foot, might enable him 
to intercept their retreat. 



THE SPY. Ill 

The trooper discliargecl Lis duty to the letter, but 
with no little of the impatience that made part of his 
character when restrained from the attack. 

During these movements, Betty Flanagan guided 
her little cart with indefatigable zeal among the rocks 
of West-Chester, now discussing with the sergeant 
the nature of evil spirits, and now combating with 
the surgeon sundry points of practice that were hourly 
arising between them. But the moment at length ar- 
rived that was to decide the temporary mastery of the 
field. A detachment of the eastern militia moved out 
from their fastnesses, and approached the enemy. 

The junction between Lawton and his auxiliaries 
was made at midnight, and an immediate consultation 
was held between him and the leader of the foot-sol- 
diers. After listening to the statements of the par- 
tisan, who rather despised the prowess of his enemy, 
the commandant of the party determined to attack 
the British the moment daylight enabled him to re- 
connoitre their position, without waiting for the aid of 
Dunwoodie and his horse. So soon as this decision 
was made, Lawton retired from the building where 
the consultation was held, and rejoined his own small 
command. 

The few troopers who were with the captain had 
fastened their horses in a spot adjacent to a haystack, 
and laid their own frames under its shelter to catch 
a few hours' sleep. But Dr. Sitgreaves, Sergeant 
Hollister, and Betty Flanagan were congregated at 
a short distance by themselves, having spread a few 
blankets upon the dry surface of a rock. Lawton 



112 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

threw his huge frame by the side of the surgeon, and 
folding his cloak about him, leaned his head upon one 
hand, and appeared deeply engaged in contemplating 
the moon as it waded through the heavens. The 
sergeant was sitting upright, in respectful deference 
to the surgeon, and the washerwoman was now rais- 
ing her head, in order to vindicate some of her favor- 
ite maxims, and now composing it on one of her casks, 
in a vain effort to sleep, 

" Are we likely to have a warm day, Captain Law- 
ton ? " 

" 'T is more than probable," replied the trooper; 
" these militia seldom fail of making a bloody field, 
either by their cowardice or their ignorance, and the 
real soldier is made to suffer for their bad conduct." 

" Are you ill, John ? " said the surgeon, passing his 
hand along the arm of the captain, until it instinct- 
ively settled on his pulse ; but the steady, even beat 
announced neither bodily nor mental malady. 

" Sick at heart, Archibald, at the folly of our rulers, 
in believing that battles are to be fought, and victories 
won, by fellows who handle a musket as they Avould a 
flail ; lads who wink when they pull, a trigger, and 
form a line like a hoop-pole. The dependence we 
place on these men spills the best blood of the coun- 
try." 

The surgeon listened with amazement. It was not 
the matter, but the manner that surprised him. The 
trooper had uniformly exhibited, on the eve of battle, 
an animation, and an eagerness to engage, that was 
directly at variance with the admirable coolness of his 



THE SPY. 113 

rnanner at other times. But now there was a de- 
spondency in the tones of his voice, and a listless- 
ness in his air, that was entirely different. Tlie oper- 
ator hesitated a moment, to reflect in what manner he 
could render this change of service in furthering his 
favorite system, and then continued, — 

"It would be wise, John, to advise the colonel to 
keep at long shot ; a spent ball will disable " — 

" No ! " exclaimed the trooper, impatiently ; " let 
the rascals singe their whiskers at the muzzles of the 
British muskets, if they can be driven there. But 
enough of them. Archibald, do you deem that moon 
to be a Avorld like this, containing creatures like our- 
selves ? " 

" Nothing more probable, dear John ; we know its 
size, and, reasoning from analogy, may easily con- 
jecture its use. Whether or not its inhabitants have 
attained to that perfection in the sciences which 
we have acquired must depend greatly on the state of 
its society, and in some measure upon its physical 
influences." 

"I care nothing about their learning, Archibald; 
but 'tis a wonderful power that can create such worlds 
and control them in their wanderings. I know not 
why, but there is a feeling of melancholy excited 
within rae as I gaze" on that body of light, shaded as 
it is by your fancied sea and land. It seems to be the 
resting-place of departed spirits ! " 

" 'T is a glorious heaven to look upon," continued 
the trooper, in the same tone, " and 't is a thousand 



114 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

pities that svich worms as men should let their vile 
passions deface such goodly work." 

" You speak the truth, dear John ; there is room 
for all to live and enjoy themselves in peace, if each 
could be satisfied with his own. Still, war has its ad- 
vantages ; it particularly promotes the knowledge of 
surgery ; and " — 

" There is a star," continued Lawton, still bent on 
his own ideas, " struggling to glitter through a few 
driving clouds ; perhaps that too is a world, and con- 
tains its creatures endowed with reason like ourselves ; 
think you that they know of war and bloodshed ? " 

" If I might be so bold," said Sergeant Hollister, 
mechanically raising his hand to his cajs, " 't is men- 
tioned in the good book that the Lord made the sun 
to stand still while Joshua was charging the enemy, 
in order, sir, as I suppose, that they might have day- 
light to turn their flank, or perhaps make a feint in 
the rear, or some such manoeuvre. Now, if the Lord 
would lend them a hand, fighting cannot be sinful. I 
have often been nonplushed, though, to find that they 
used them chariots instead of heavy dragoons, who 
are, in all comparison, better to break a line of in- 
fantry." 

" It is because you do not understand the construc- 
tion of those ancient vehicles, Sergeant Hollister, that 
you judge of them so erroneously," said the surgeon. 
" They were armed with sharp weapons that protruded 
from their wheels, and which broke up the columns 
of foot, like dismembered particles of matter. I doubt 
not, if similar instruments were afiixed to the cart of 



THE SPY. 115 

Mrs. Flanagan, that great confusion might be carried 
into the ranks of the enemy thereby, this very day." 

A long roll of the drums, from the hill occupied by 
the British, announced that they were on the alert ; 
and a corresponding signal was immediately heard 
from the Americans. The bugle of the Virginians 
struck up its martial tones ; and in a few moments 
both the hills, the one held by the royal troops, and 
the other by their enemies, were alive with armed 
men. Day had begun to dawn, and preparations were 
making by both parties to give and to receive the 
attack. In numbers the Americans had greatly the 
advantage ; but in discipline and equipments the su- 
periority was entirely with their enemies. The ar- 
rangements for the battle were brief, and by the time 
the sun had risen the militia moved forward. 

The ground did not admit of the movements of 
horse ; and the only duty that could be assigned to the 
dragoons was to watch the moment of victory, and en- 
deavor to improve the success to the utmost. Lawton 
soon got his warriors into the saddle ; and leaving 
them to the charge of Hollister, he rode himself along 
the line of foot, who, in varied dresses, and imperfectly 
armed, were formed in a shape that in some degree 
resembled a martial array. A scornful smile lowered 
about the lip of the trooper as he guided Roanoke 
with a skilful hand through the windings of their 
ranks ; and when the word was given to march, he 
turned the flank of the regiment, and followed close 
in the rear. The Americans had to descend into a 
little hollow, and rise a hill on its opposite side to ap- 
proach the enemy. 



116 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

The descent was made with tolerable steadiness, 
until near the foot of the hill, when the royal troops 
advanced in a beautiful line, with their flanks pro- 
tected by the formation of the ground. The appear- 
ance of "the British drew a fire from the militia, which 
was given with good effect, and for a moment stag- 
gered the regulars. But they were rallied by their 
officers, and threw in volley after volley with great 
steadiness. For a short time the fire was warm and 
destructive, until the English advanced with the bay- 
onet. This assault the militia had not sufficient dis- 
cipline to withstand. Their liiie wavered, then paused, 
and finally broke into companies and fragments of 
companies, keeping up at the same time a scattering 
and desultory fire. 

Lawton witnessed these operations in silence, nor 
did he open his mouth until the field was covered with 
parties of the flying Americans. Then, indeed, he 
seemed stung with the disgrace thus heaped upon the 
arms of his country. Spurring Roanoke along the 
side of the hill, he called to the fugitives in all the 
strength of his powerful voice. He pointed to the 
enemy, and assured his countrymen that they had mis- 
taken the way. There was such a mixture of in- 
difference and irony in his exhortations, that a few 
paused in surprise ; more joined them, until, roused 
by the example of the trooper, and stimulated by 
their own spirit, they demanded to be led against 
their foe once more. 

" Come on, then, my brave friends ! " shouted the 
trooper, turning his horse's head towards the British 



THE SPY. 117 

line, one flank of which was very near him ; " come 
on, and hold yonr fire until it will scorch their eye- 
brows." 

The men sprang forward, and followed his example, 
neither giving nor receiving a fire until they had come 
within a very short distance of the enemy. An English 
sergeant, who had been concealed by a rock, enraged 
with the audacity of the officer who thus dared their 
arms, stepped from behind his cover, and advancing 
within a few yards of the trooper, levelled his musket. 

" Fire, and you die ! " cried Lawton, spurring his 
charger, which leaped forward at the instant. The 
action and the tone of his voice shook the nerves of 
the Englishman, who drew his trigger with an uncer- 
tain aim. Roanoke sprang with all his feet from the 
earth, and, plunging, fell headlong and lifeless at the 
feet of his destroyer. Lawton kept his feet, standing 
face to face with his enemy. The latter presented 
his bayonet, and made a desperate thrust at the troop- 
er's heart. The steel of their weapons emitted sparks 
of fire, and the bayonet flew fifty feet in the air. At 
the next moment its owner lay a quivering corpse. 

" Come on ! " shouted the trooper, as a body of Eng- 
lish appeared on the rock, and threw in a close fire ; 
" come on ! " he repeated, and brandished his sabre 
fiercely. Then his gigantic form fell backward, like 
a majestic pine yielding to the axe ; but still, as he 
slowly fell, he continued to wield his sabre, and once 
more the deep tones of his voice were heard uttering, 
" Come on ! " 

The advancing Americans paused aghast, and turn- 
ing, the}' abandoned the field to the royal troops. 



118 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

It was iKMtlier the intention nor the policy of the 
English commander to pursue his success, for he well 
knew that strong parties of the Americans would 
soon arrive ; accordingly, he only tarried to collect his 
wounded, and, forming in a square, he commenced his 
retreat towards the shipping. Within twenty min- 
utes of tlie fall of Lawton, the ground was deserted 
by both English and Americans. 

When the inhabitants of the country were called 
upon to enter the field, they were necessarily attended 
by such surgical advisers as were furnished by the low 
state of the profession in the interior at that day. Dr. 
Sitgreaves entertained quite as profound a contempt 
for the medical attendants of the militia as the cap- 
tain did of the troops themselves. He wandered, 
therefore, around the field, casting many a glance of 
disapprobation at the slight operations that came un- 
der his eye ; but when, among the flying troops, he 
found that his comrade and friend was nowhere to be 
seen, he hastened back to the spot at which HoUister 
was posted, to inquire if the trooper had returned. 
Of course the answer was in the negative. Filled 
with a thousand uneasy conjectures, the surgeon, with- 
out regarding, or indeed without at all reflecting upon 
any dangers that might lie in his way, strode over the 
ground at an enormous rate, to the point where he 
knew the final struggle had been. Once before, the 
surgeon had rescued his friend from death in a similar 
situation ; and he felt a secret joy in his own conscious 
skill, as he perceived Betty Flanagan seated on the 
ground, holding in her lap the head of a man whose 



THE SFY. 119 

size and dress he knew could belong only to the 
trooper. As he approached the spot, the surgeon be- 
came alarmed at the aspect of the washerwoman. 
Her little black bonnet was thrown aside, and her 
hair, which was already streaked with gray, hung 
around her face in disorder. 

" John ! dear John ! " said the doctor, tenderly, as 
he bent and laid his hand upon the senseless wrist of 
the trooper, from which it recoiled with an intuitive 
knowledge of his fate; " John ! dear John ! where are 
you hurt ? — can I help you ? " 

" Ye talk to the senseless clay," said Betty, rock- 
ing her body, and unconsciously playing with the ra- 
ven ringlets of the trooper's hair ; " it 's no more will 
he hear, and it 's but little will he mind ye're probes 
and ye're med'cines. Och hone, och hone ! — and 
where will be the liberty now ? or who will there be 
to fight the battle, or gain the day ? " 

" John ! " repeated the surgeon, still unwilling to 
believe the evidence of his unerring senses, " dear 
John, speak to me ; say what you will, that you do 
but speak. O God ! he is dead ; would that I had 
died with him ! " 

" John ! ray dear John ! " said the surgeon, with 
convulsive sobs, " thy hour has come, and many a 
more prudent man survives thee ; but none better, nor 
braver. Oh, John, thou wert to me a kind friend, 
and very dear : it is unphilosophical to grieve ; but for 
thee, John, I must weep, even in bitterness of heart ! " 

The doctor buried his face in his hands, and for sev- 
eral minutes sat yielding to an ungovernable burst of 



120 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

sorrow ; while the washerwoman gave vent to her 
grief, moving her body in a kind of writhing, and 
playing with different parts of her favorite's dress 
with her fingers. 

A thundering sound of horses' feet came rolling 
along the road which led near the place where Law- 
ton lay, and directly the whole body of Virginians 
appeared, with Dunwoodie at their head. The news 
of the captain's fate had reached him ; for the instant 
that he saw the body he halted the squadron, and, dis- 
movuiting, approached the spot. The countenance of 
Lawton was not in the least distorted, but the angry 
frown which had lowered over his brow during the 
battle was fixed even in death. His frame was com- 
posed, and stretched as in sleep. Dunwoodie took 
hold of his hand, and gazed a moment in silence ; his 
own dark eye kindled and the paleness which had 
overspread his features was succeeded by a spot of 
deep red in either cheek. 

" With his own sword will I avenge him ! " he 
cried, endeavoring to take the weapon from the 
hand of Lawton ; but the grasp resisted his utmost 
strength. "It shall be buried with him. Sitgreaves, 
take care of our friend, while I revenge his death." 

The major hastened back to his charger, and led the 
way in pursuit of the enemy. 

While Dunwoodie had been thus engaged, the body 
of Lawton lay in open view of the whole squadron. 
He was a universal favorite, and the sight inflamed 
the men to the utmost: neither officers nor soldiers 
possessed that coolness which is necessary to insure 



THE SPY. 121 

success in military operations ; but they spurred ar- 
dently after their enemies, burning with a wish for 
vengeance. 

The English were formed in a hollow square, which 
contained their wounded, who were far from numerous, 
and were marching steadily across a very uneven coun- 
try as the dragoons approached. The horse charged 
in column, and were led by Dunwoodie, who, burning 
with revenge, thought to ride through their ranks, and 
scatter them at a blow. But the enemy knew their 
own strength too well, and, standing firm, they re- 
ceived the charge on the points of their bayonets. The 
horses of the Virginians recoiled, and the rear rank of 
the foot throwing in a close fire, the major with a 
few men fell. The English continued their reti'eat 
the moment they were extricated from their assailants ; 
and Dunwoodie, who was severely, but not danger- 
ously wounded, recalled his men from further attempts, 
which, in that stony country, must necessarily be 
fruitless. 

A sad duty remained to be fulfilled. The dragoons 
retired slowly thi'ough the hills, conveying their 
wounded commander and the body of Lawton. The 
latter they interred under the ramparts of one of the 
Highland forts, and the former they consigned to the 
tender care of his afflicted bride. 

Many weeks were gone before the major was re- 
stored to sufficient strength to be removed. During 
those Aveeks, how often did he bless the moment, that 
gave him a right to the services of his beautiful nurse ! 
She hung around his couch with fond attention ; ad- 



122 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

ministered with her own hands every prescription of 
the indefatigable Sitgreaves, and grew each hour in 
the affections and esteem of her husband. An order 
from Washington soon sent the troops into winter- 
quarters, and permission was given to Dunwoodie to 
repair to his own plantation, with the rank of lieuten- 
ant-colonel, in order to complete the restoration of his 
health. 

It was a happy winter for Dunwoodie, and smiles 
once more began to play around the lovely mouth of 
Frances. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

'Midst furs, and silks, and jewels' sheen, 
lie stood, iu simple Lincoln green. 
The centre of the glittering ring ; 
And Snowdon's knight is Scotland's king ! 

Lady of the Lake. 

The commencement of the following year was 
passed, on the part of the Americans, in making great 
preparations, in conjunction with their alhes, to bring 
the war to a close. In the south, Greene and Rawdon 
made a bloody campaign, that was highly honorable 
to the troops of the latter, but which, by terminating 
entirely to the advantage of the former, proved him 
to be the better general of the two. 

New York was the point that was threatened by 
the allied armies ; and Washington, by exciting a 
constant apprehension for the safety of that city, pre- 



THE SPY. 123 

vented such reinforcements from being sent to Corn- 
wallis as would have enabled him to improve his suc- 
cess. . 

At length, as autumn approached, ever}^ indication 
was given that the final moment had arrived. 

The French forces drew near to the ro^^al lines, 
passing through the neutral ground, and threatened an 
attack in the direction of King's Bridge, while large 
bodies of Americans were acting in concert. By hov- 
ering around the British posts, and drawing nigh in 
the Jerseys, they seemed to threaten the royal forces 
from that quarter also. The preparations partook of 
the nature of both a siege and a storm. But Sir 
Henry Clinton, in the possession of intercepted let- 
ters from Washington, rested securely within his 
lines, and cautiously disregarded the solicitations of 
Cornwallis for succor. 

It was at the close of a stormy day in the month of 
September that a large assemblage of officers was col- 
lected near the door of a building that was situated in 
the heart of the American troops, who held the Jer- 
seys. The age, the dress, and the dignity of deport- 
ment of most of these warriors, indicated them to be 
of high rank: but to one in particular was paid a def- 
erence and obedience that announced him to be of the 
highest. His dress was plain, but it bore the usual 
military distinctions of command. He was mounted 
on a noble animal, of a deep bay ; and a group of 
young men, in gayer attire, evidently awaited his 
pleasure and did his bidding. Many a hat was lifted 
as its owner addressed this officer ; and when he spoke 



124 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

a profound attention, exceeding the respect of mere 
professional etiquette, was exhibited on every counte- 
nance. At length the general raised his own hat, and 
bowed gravely to all around liim. The salute was re- 
turned, and the party dispersed, leaving the officer 
without a single attendant, except his body servants 
and one aide-de-camp. Dismounting, he stepped back 
a few paces, and for a moment viewed the condition 
of his horse with the eye of one who well understood 
the animal, and then, casting a brief but expressive 
glance at his aide, he retired into the building, fol- 
lowed by that gentleman. 

On entering an apartment that was apparently fit- 
ted for his reception, he took a seat, and continued for 
a long time in a thoughtful attitude, like one in the 
habit of communing much with himself. During this 
silence, the aide-de-camp stood in expectation of his 
orders. At length the general raised his eyes, and 
spoke in those low, placid tones that seemed natural to 
him. 

" Has the man whom I wished to see arrived, sir ? " 
" He waits the pleasure of your excellency." 
" I will receive him here, and alone, if you please." 
The aide bowed and withdrew. In a few minutes 
the door again opened, and a figure, gliding into the 
apartment, stood modestly at a distance from the gen- 
eral, without speaking. His entrance was unheard by 
the officer, who sat gazing at the fire, still absorbed in 
his own meditations. Several minutes passed, when 
he spoke to himself in an undertone, — 

" To-morrow we must raise the curtain, and expose 
our plans. May Heaven prosper them ! " 



THE SPY. 125 

A slight movement made b}- the stranger caught 
his ear, and he turned his head, and saw that he was 
not alone. He pointed silently to the fire, towards 
which the figm'e advanced, although the multitude of 
his garments, which seemed moi*e calculated for dis- 
guise than comfort, rendered its warmth unnecessary. 
A second mild and courteous gesture motioned to a 
vacant chair, but the stranger refused it with a mod- 
est acknowledgment. Another pause followed, and 
continued for some time. At length the officer arose, 
and opening a desk that was laid upon the table near 
which he sat, took from it a small, but apparently 
heavy bag. 

"Harvey Birch," he said, turning to the stranger, 
" the time has arrived when our connection must 
cease ; henceforth and forever we must be strangers." 

The pedler dropped the folds of the great-coat that 
concealed his features, and gazed for a moment ej^r- 
nestly at the face of the speaker ; then, dropping his 
head upon his bosom, he said, meekly, — 

" If it be your excellency's pleasure." 

"It is necessary. Since I have filled the station 
which I now hold, it has become my duty to know 
many men, who, like yourself, have been my instru- 
ments in procuring intelligence. You have I trusted 
more than all ; I early saw in you a regard to truth 
and principle that, I am pleased to say, has never de- 
ceived me ; you alone know my secret agents in the 
cit}^ and on your fidelity depend, not only their for- 
tunes, but their lives." 

He paused, as if to reflect, in order that full justice 
might be done to the pedler, and then continued : — 



126 /. FENIMORE COOPER. 

" I believe 5^011 are one of the very few tliat I have 
employed who have acted faithfully to our cause ; and, 
while you have passed as a spy of the enemy, have 
never given intelligence that you were not permitted 
to divulge. To me, and to me only of all the world, 
you seem to have acted with a strong attachment to 
the liberties of America." 

During this address, Harvey gradually raised his 
head from his bosom, until it reached the highest 
point of elevation ; a faint tinge gathered in his 
cheeks, and, as the officer concluded, it was diffused 
over his whole countenance in a deep glow, while he 
stood proudly swelling with his emotions, but with 
eyes that modestly sought the feet of the speaker. 

" It is now my duty to pay you for these services ; 
hitherto you have postponed receiving your reward, 
and the debt has become a heavy one — I wish not to 
undervalue your dangers ; here are a hundred doub- 
loons ; you will remember the poverty of our country, 
and attribute to it the smallness of your pay." 

The pedler raised his eyes to the countenance of the 
speaker ; but, as the other held forth the money, he 
moved back, as if refusing the bag. 

" It is not much for your services and risks, I ac- 
knowledge," continued the general, " but it is all that 
I have to offer ; at the end of the campaign, it may 
be in my power to increase it." 

" Does your excellency think that I have exposed 
my life, and blasted my character, for money ? " 

" If not for money, what then ?" 

"What has brought your excellency into the field? 



THE SPY. 127 

For what do you daily and hourly expose your pre- 
cious life to battle and the halter? What is there 
about me to mourn, when such men as you risk their 
all for our country ? No, no, no, — not a dollar of 
your gold will I touch ; poor America has need of it 
all ! " 

The bag dropped from the hand of the officer, and 
fell at the feet of the pedler, where it lay neglected 
during the remainder of the interview. The officer 
looked steadily at the face of his companion, and con- 
tinued, — 

" There are many motives which might govern me 
that to you are unknown. Our situations are differ- 
ent ; I am known as the leader of armies, — but you 
must descend into the grave with the reputation of a 
foe to your native land. Remember that the veil 
which conceals j^our true character cannot be raised in 
3^ears — perhaps never." 

Birch again lowered his face, but there was no yield- 
ing of the soul in the movement. 

" You will soon be old ; the prime of your days is 
already past ; what have you to subsist on ? " 

" These ! " said the pedler, stretching forth his 
hands, that were already embrowned with toil. 

"But those may fail you ; take enough to secure a 
support to your age. Remember your risks and cares. 
I have told you that the characters of men who are 
much esteemed in life depend on your secrecy ; wliat 
pledge can I give them of your fidelity ? " 

" Tell them," said Birch, advancing and uncon- 
sciously vesting one foot on the bag, " tell them that I 
would not take the gold ! " 



128 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

The composed features of the officer relaxed into a 
smile of benevolence, and he grasped the hand of the 
pedler firmly. 

" Now, indeed, I know yon ; and although the same 
reasons which have hitherto compelled me to expose 
your valuable life will still exist, and prevent my 
openly asserting your character, in private I can al- 
ways be your friend ; fail not to apply to me when 
in want or suffering, and so long as God giveth to 
me, so long will I freely share with a man who feels 
so nobly and acts so well. If sickness or want should 
ever assail you, and peace once more smile upon our 
efforts, seek the gate of him whom you have so often 
met as Harper, and he will not blush to acknowledge 
you in his true character." 

" It is little that I need in this life," said Harvey ; 
" so long as God gives me health and honest industry 
I can never want in this country ; but to know that 
your excellency is my friend is a blessing that I prize 
more than all the gold of England's treasury." 

The officer stood for a few moments in the attitude 
of intense thought. He then drew to him the desk, 
and wrote a few lines on a piece of paper, and gave it 
to the pedler. 

" That Providence destines this country to some 
great and glorious fate I must believe, while I witness 
the patriotism that pervades the bosoms of her lowest 
citizens," he said. " It must be dreadful to a mind 
like yours to descend into the grave, branded as a foe 
to liberty ; but you already know the lives that would 
be sacrificed should your real character be revealed. 



THE SPY. 129 

It is impossible to do you justice now, but I fearlessly 
intrust you with this certificate ; should we never 
meet again, it may be serviceable to your children." 

" Children ! " exclaimed the pedler : " can I give 
to a family the infamy of my name ! " 

The officer gazed at the strong emotion he exhibited 
with pain, and he made a slight movement towards 
the gold ; but it was arrested by the expression of 
his companion's face. Harvey saw the intention, and 
shook his head, as he continued more mildly, — 

" It is, indeed, a treasure that your excellency gives 
me : it is safe, too. There are men living who could 
say that my life was nothing to me, compared to your 
secrets. The paper that I told you was lost I swal- 
lowed when taken last by the Virginians. It was the 
only time I ever deceived your excellency, and it shall 
be the last ; yes, this is indeed a treasure to me ; 
perhaps," he continued, with a melancholy smile, "'it 
may be known after my death who was my friend ; 
but if it should not, there are none to grieve for me." 

" Remember," said the officer, with strong emotion, 
" that in me you will always have a secret friend ; but 
openly I cannot know you." 

" I know it, I know it," said Birch ; " I knew it 
when I took the service. 'T is probably the last time 
that I shall ever see your excellenc3^ May God pour 
down his choicest blessings on your head ! " He 
paused, and moved towards the door. The officer 
followed him with eyes that expressed deej) interest. 
Once more the pedler turned, and seemed to gaze on 
the placid but commanding features of the general 



130 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 

with regret and reverence, and then, bowing low, he 
withdrew. 

The armies of America and France were led by 
their illustrious commander against the enemy under 
Cornwallis, and terminated a campaign in triumph 
that had commenced in difficulties. Great Britain 
soon after became disgusted with the war ; and the 
independence of the States was acknowledged. 

As years rolled by, it became a subject of pride 
among the different actors in the war, and their de- 
scendants, to boast of their efforts in the cause which 
had confessedly heaped so many blessings upon their 
country ; but the name of Harvey Birch died away 
among the multitude of agents who were thought to 
have labored in secret against the rights of their 
countrymen. His image, however, was often present 
to the mind of the powerful chief who alone knew 
bis true character ; and several times did he cause 
secret inquiries to be made into the other's fate, one 
of which only resulted in any success. By this he 
learned that a pedler of a different name, but similar 
appearance, was toiling through the new settlements 
that were springing up in every direction, and that 
he was struggling with the advance of years and ap- 
parent poverty. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

BY 

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

(Published by arrangement with Messrs. Houghton, Osgood ^- Co.) 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE IlsriST. 



PRELUDE. 

THE WAYSIDE INN. 

One Autumn night, in Sudbury town, 

Across the meadows bare and brown, 

The windows of the wayside inn 

Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves 

Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves 

Their crimson curtains rent and thin. 

As ancient is this hostelry 

As any in the land may be, 

Built in the old Colonial day, 

When men lived in a grander way, 

With ampler hospitality ; 

A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, 

Now somewhat fallen to decay. 

With weather-stains upon the wall, 

And stairways worn, and crazy doors, 

And creaking and uneven floors, 

And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall. 

A region of repose it seems, 

A place of slumber and of dreams. 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Remote among the wooded hills ! 
For there no noisy railway speeds, 
Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds ; 
But noon and night, the panting teams 
Stop under the gi'eat oaks, that throw 
Tangles of light and shade below, 
On roofs and doors and window-sills. 
Across the road the barns display 
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay, 
Through the wide doors the breezes blow, 
The wattled cocks strut to and fro. 
And, half effaced by rain and shine. 
The Red Horse prances on the sign. 

Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode 
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust 
Went rushing down the county road, 
And skeletons of leaves, and dust, 
A moment quickened by its breath, 
Shuddered and danced their dance of death, 
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead 
Mysterious voices moaned and fled. 

But from the parlor of the inn 

A pleasant murmur smote the ear, 

Like water rushing through a weir : 

Oft interrupted by the din 

Of laughter and of loud applause. 

And, in each intervening pause, 

The music of a violin. 

The fire-light, shedding over all 

The splendor of its ruddy glow, 

Filled the whole parlor large and low ; 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

It gleamed on wainscot and on wall, 
It touched with more than wonted grace 
Fair Princess Mary's pictured face ; 
It bronzed the rafters overhead, 
On the old spinet's ivory keys 
It played inaudible melodies, 
It crowned the sombre clock with flame, 
The hands, the hours, the maker's name. 
And painted with a livelier red 
The Landlord's coat-of-arms again ; 
And, flashing on the window-pane. 
Emblazoned with its light and shade 
The jovial rhymes, that still remain, 
Writ near a century ago. 
By the great Major Molineaux, 
Whom Hawthorne has immortal made. 

Before the blazing fire of wood 

Erect the rajDt musician stood ; 

And ever and anon he bent 

His head upon his instrument, 

And seemed to listen, till he caught 

Confessions of its secret thought. — 

The joy, the triumph, the lament, 

The exultation and the joain; 

Then, by the magic of his art, 

He soothed the throbbings of its heart, 

And lulled it into peace again. 

Around the fireside at their ease 
There sat a group of friends, entranced 
With the delicious melodies ; 
Who from the far-oiF noisy town 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Had to the wayside inn come down, 
To rest beneath its old oak-tree. 
The fire-light on their faces glanced, 
Their shadows on the wainscot danced. 
And, though of different lands and speech, 
Eacli had his tale to tell, and each 
"Was anxious to be pleased and please. 
And while the sweet musician plays, 
Let me in outline sketch them all, 
Perchance uncouthly as the blaze 
With its uncertain touch portrays 
Their shadowy semblance on the wall. 

But first the Landlord will I trace : 

Grave in his aspect and attire ; 

A man of ancient pedigree, 

A Justice of the Peace was he, 

Known in all Sudbury as " The Squire." 

Proud was he of his name and race. 

Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh, 

And in the jDarlor, full in view. 

His coat-of-arms, well framed and glazed, 

UlJon the wall in colors blazed ; 

He beai'eth gules upon his shield, 

A chevron argent in the field. 

With three wolf's heads, and. for the crest 

A Wyvern part-per-pale addressed 

Upon a hemlet barred ; below 

The scroll reads, " By the name of Howe.' 

And over this, no longer bright. 

Though glimmering with a latent light, 

Was hung the sword his grandsire bore 

In the rebellious days of yore. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Down there at Concord in the fight. 
A youth was there, of quiet ways, 
A Student of old books and days, 
To whom all tongues and lands were known 
And yet a lover of his own ; 
With many a social virtue graced, 
And yet a friend of solitude ; 
A man of such a genial mood 
The heart of all things he embraced, 
And yet of such fastidious taste, 
He never found the' best too good- 
Books were his passion and delight. 
And in his upper room at home 
Stood many a rare and sumptuous tome. 
In vellum bound, with gold bedight. 
Great volumes garmented in white, 
Recalling Florence, Pisa, Rome. 
He loved the twilight that surrounds 
The border-land of old romance ; 
Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance. 
And banner waves, and trumpet sounds. 
And ladies ride with hawk on wrist. 
And mighty warriors sweep along. 
Magnified by the purjjle mist. 
The dusk of centuries and of song. 



A young Sicilian, too, was there; 
In sight of Etna born and bred. 
Some breath of its volcanic air 
Was glowing in his heart and brain. 
And, being rebellious to his liege, 
After Palermo's fatal sieffe, 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Across the western seas he fled, 

In good King Boinba's happy reign. 

His face was like a summer night 

All flooded with a dusky light ; 

His hands were small ; his teeth shone white 

As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke ; 

His sinews supple and strong as oak ; 

Clean shaven was he as a priest. 

Who at the mass on Sunday sings, 

Save that upon his upper lip 

His beard, a good palm's length at least, 

Level and pointed at the tip. 

Shot sideways, like a swallow's wiugs. 

The poets read he o'er and o'er. 

And most of all the Immortal Four 

Of Italy ; and next to those. 

The story -telling bard of prose. 

Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales 

Of the Decameron, that make 

Fiesole's green hills and vales 

Remembered for Boccaccio's sake. 

Much too of music was his thought ; 

The melodies and measures fraught 

With sunshine and the open air. 

Of vineyards and the singing sea 

Of his beloved Sicily ; 

And much it pleased him to peruse 

The soDgs of the Sicilian muse, — 

Bucolic songs by Meli suug 

In the familiar peasant tongue, 

That made men say, " Behold ! once more 

The pitying gods to earth restore 

Theocritus of Syracuse ! " 



TALES OF A WAYSDE INN. 

A Spanish Jew from Alicant 
With aspect grand and grave was there ; 
Vender of silks and fabrics rare, 
And attar of rose from the Levant. 
Like an old Patriach he appeared, 
Abraham or Isaac, or at least 
Some later Prophet or High-Priest ; 
"With lustrous eyes, and olive skin. 
And, wildly tossed from cheeks and chin, 
The tumbling cataract of his beard. 
His garments breathed a spicy scent 
Of cinnamon and sandal blent. 
Like the soft aromatic gales 
That meet the mariner, who sails 
Through the Moluccas, and the seas 
That wash the shores of Celebes. 

Well versed was he in Hebrew books, 

Talmud and Targum, and the lore 

Of Kabala ; and evermore 

There was a mystery in his looks ; 

His eyes seemed gazing far away. 

As if in vision or in trance 

He heard the solemn sackbut play. 

And saw the Jewish maidens dance. 

A Theologian, from the school 

Of Cambridge on the Charles, was there ; 

Skilful alike with tongue and pen. 

He preached to all men everywhere 

The Gospel of the Golden Rule, 

The New Commandment given to men. 

Thinking the deed, and not the creed. 



10 HENRY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 

Would help us in our utmost need. 
With reverent feet the earth he trod, 
Nor banished nature from his ^ilan, 
But studied still with deep research 
To build the Universal Church, 
Lofty as is the love of God, 
And amj)le as the wants of man. 

A Poet, too, was there, whose verse 

Was tender, musical, and terse ; 

The inspiration, the delight 

The gleam, the glory, the swift flight, 

Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem 

The revelations of a dream. 

All these were' his ; but with them came 

No envy of another's fame ; 

He did not find his sleep less sweet 

For music in some neighboring street, 

Nor rustling hear in every breeze 

The laurels of Miltiades.^ 

Honor and blessings on his head 

While living, good report when dead, 

Who, not too eager for renown, 

Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown ! 

Last the IMusician, as he stood 
Illumined by that fire of wood ; 
Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect blithe, 
His figure tall and straight and lithe. 
And every feature of his face 
Revealing his Norwegian race ; 
A radiance, streaming from within, 
1 See Plutarch's Themistocks, § 3. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 11 

Around his eyes and forehead beamed, 

The Angel with the violin, 

Painted by Eaphael, he seemed. 

He lived in that ideal world 

Whose language is not speech, but song ; 

Around him evermore the throng 

Of elves and sj^rites their dances whirled ; 

The Stromkarl sang, the catai'act hurled 

Its headlong waters from the height ; 

And mingled in the wild delight 

The scream of sea-birds in their flight, 

The I'umor of the forest trees, 

The jDlunge of the implacable seas. 

The tumult of the wind at night. 

Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing, 

Old ballads, and wild melodies 

Through mist and darkness pouring forth, 

Like Elivagar's river flowing 

Out of the glaciers of the North. 

The instrument on which he played 

"Was in Cremona's workshops made, 

By a great master of the past, 

Ere yet was lost the art divine ; 

Fashioned of maple and of pine. 

That in Tyrolian forests vast 

Had rocked and wrestled with the blast ; 

Exquisite was it in design. 

Perfect in each minutest part, 

A marvel of the lutist's art ; 

And in its hollow chamber, thus, 

The maker from whose hands it came 



12 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Had written his unrivalled name, — 
"Antonius Stradivarius." 

And when he played, the atmosphere 
Was filled with magic, and the ear 
Caught echoes of that Harp of Gold, 
Whose music had so weird a sound, 
The hunted stag forgot to bound. 
The leaping rivulet backward rolled, 
The birds came down from bush and tree, 
The dead came from beneath the sea, 
The maiden to the harper's knee ! 

The music ceased ; the applause was loud, 
The pleased musician smiled and bowed ; 
The wood-fire clapped its hands of flame, 
The shadows on the wainscot stirred. 
And from the harpsichord there came 
A ghostly murmur of acclaim, 
A sound like that sent down at night 
By birds of passage in their flight, 
From the remotest distance heard. 

Then silence followed ; then began 
A clamor for the Landlord's tale, — 
The story promised them of old, 
They said, but always left untold; 
And he, although a bashful man. 
And all his courage seemed to fail, 
Finding excuse of no avail. 
Yielded ; and thus the story ran. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 13 

THE LANDLORD'S TALE. 

PAUL REVERE'S ride. 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five ; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 

He said to his friend, " If the British march 

By land or sea from the town to-night. 

Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 

Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — 

One, if by land, and two, if by sea; 

And I on the opposite shore will be, 

Ready to ride and spread the alarm 

Tlu'ough every Middlesex village and farm, 

For the country folk to be up and to arm." 

Then he said, " Good night ! " and with muffled oar 

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore. 

Just as the moon rose over the bay, 

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 

The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 

A phantom ship, with each mast and sj)ar 

Across the moon like a prison bar, 

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, 
Wanders and watches with eager ears. 
Till in the silence around him he hears 



14 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

The muster of men at the barrack door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers, 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, 

By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread. 

To the belfry-chamber overhead. 

And startled the pigeons fronl their pei'ch 

On the sombre rafters, that round him made 

Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 

By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 

To the highest window in the wall. 

Where he paused to listen and look down 

A moment on the roofs of the town. 

And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 

In tlieir night-encampment on the hill, 

Wraj^ped in silence so deep and still 

That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 

The watchful night-wind, as it went 

Creeping along from tent to tent. 

And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! " 

A moment only he feels the spell 

Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 

On a shadowy something far away. 

Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 

A line of black that bends and floats 

On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 15 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the op230site shore walked Paul Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side. 
Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth. 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; 
But mostly he watched with eager search 
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
He springs to the saddle, the l^ridle he turns. 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark. 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet : 

That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light. 

The fate of a nation was riding that night; 

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, 

Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 

He has left the village and mounted the steep. 
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, 
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; 
And under the alders, that skirt its edge, 
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 



16 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

It was twelve by tlie village clock 

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 

He heard the crowing of the cock, 

And the barking of the farmer's dog, 

And felt the damp of the river fog, 

That rises after the snn goes down. 

It was one by the village clock, 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw the gilded weathercock 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 

And the meeting-house wmdows, blank and bare, 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare. 

As if they already stood aghast 

At the bloody work they would look upon. 

It was two by the village clock, 

When he came to the bridge in Concord town. . 

He heard the bleating of the flock, 

And the twitter of birds among the trees. 

And felt the breath of the morning breeze 

Blowing over the meadows brown. 

And one was safe and asleep in his bed 

Who at the bridge would be first to fall, 

Who that day would be lying dead, 

Pierced by a British musket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books you have read. 
How the British Regulars fired and fled, — 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball. 
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, 
Chasing the red-coats down the lane. 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 17 

Under the trees at the turn of the road, 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere; 
And so through the night went his cry of alarm 
To every Middlesex village and farm, — 
'A cry of defiance and not of fear, 
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door. 
And a word that shall echo forevermore ! 
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 
Through all our history, to the last. 
In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 
The people will waken and listen to hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed. 
And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE. 

KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 

And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Apparelled in magnificent attire, 

With retinue of many a knight and squire, 

On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 

And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. 

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 

Repeated, like a burden or refrain. 

He caught the words, " Deposuit potentes 

De sede, et exaltavit humiles ; " ^ 

And slowly lifting up his kingly head 

He to a learned clerk beside him said, 

1 St. Luke, i. 52. 
2 



18 BENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

" "What mean these words ? " The clerk made answer meet, 
" He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree." 
Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 
" 'T is well that such seditious words are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; 
"For unto priests and j^eople be it known. 
There is no power can push me from my throne!" 
And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 

When he awoke, it was already night; 

The church was empty, and there was no light, 

Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint, 

Lighted a little space before some saint. 

He started from his seat and gazed around. 

But saw no living thing and heard no sound, 

He groped towards the door, but it was locked ; 

He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, 

And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, 

And imprecations upon men and saints. 

The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls 

As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. 

At length, the sexton, hearing from without 
The tumult of the knocking and the shout, 
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, 
Came with his lantern, asking, " Who is there ? " 
Half choked with rage. King Robert fiercely said, 

" Open : 't is I, the King ! Art thou afraid ? " 
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, 

" This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " 
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



19 



A man rushed by him at a smgle stride, 
ILu-o-ard, half naked, without hat or cloak, 
,Wh? neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the night. 
And vanished like a spectre from his sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire. 
Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire, 
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, 
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate; 
Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page. 
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair. 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed.: 
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, 
Until at last he reached the banquet-room. 
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. 

There on the dais sat another king, 
Wearincr his robes, his crown, his signet-ring. 
King R^obert's self in features, form, and height, 
But^all transfigured with angelic light ! 
It was an Angel; and his presence there 
With a divine effulgence filled the air, 
An exaltation, piercing the disguise, 
Though none the hidden Angel recognize. 

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, 
The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, 
Wlio met his look of anger and surprise 



20 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

With the divine compassion of his eyes ; 

Then said, " Who art thou ? and why com'st thou here ? " 

To which King Robert answered, with a sneer, 

" I am the King, and come to claim my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " 
And suddenly, at these audacious words, 
Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords ; 
The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, 

" Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou 
Henceforth shall wear the bells and scalloped cape. 
And for thy counsellor shall lead an ape ; 
Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 
And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!" 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, 

They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs ; 

A group of tittering j^ages ran before, 

And as they opened wide the folding door. 

His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, 

The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms. 

And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 

With the mock plaudits of " Long live the King ! " 

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, 
He said within himself, " It was a dream ! " 
But the straw rustled as he turned his head. 
There were the cap and bells beside his bed. 
Around him rose the bare, discolored walls. 
Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls. 
And in the corner, a revolting shape, 
Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. 
It was no dream; the world he loved so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! 



TALES OF A WAY-SIDE INiV. 21 

Days came and went ; and now returned again 
To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; 
Under the Angel's governance benign 
The happy island danced with corn and wine, 
And deep within the mountain's burning breast 
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 
Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, 
Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 
Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear. 
With look bewildered and a vacant stare. 
Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn. 
His only friend the ape, his only food 
What others left, — he still was unsubdued. 
And when the Angel met him on his way, 
And half in earnest, half in jest, would say. 
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 
The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, 
" Art thou the King ? " the passion of his woe 
Burst from him in resistless overflow. 
And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling 
The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the King ! " 

Almost three years were ended ; when there came 
Ambassadors of great repute and name 
From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane 
By letter summoned them forthwith to come 
On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 
The Angel with great joy received his guests, 
And gave them presents of embroidered vests, 
And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined. 
And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 



22 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Then he departed with them o'er the sea 

Into the lovely laud of Italy, 

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 

By the mere passing of that cavalcade, 

With jDlumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir 

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock state. 

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait. 

His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind. 

The solemn ape demurely perched behind, 

King Robert rode, making huge merriment 

In all the country towns through which they went. 

The Pope received them with great pomp and blare 

Of bannered trumjiets, on Saint Peter's square, 

Giving his benediction and embrace. 

Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 

While with congratulations and with prayers 

He entertained the Angel unawares, 

Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, 

Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, 

" I am the King ! Look, and behold in me 
Robert, your brother. King of Sicily ! 
This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, 
Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 
Do you not know me ? does no voice within 
Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? " 
The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 

• Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene ; 
The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport 
To keep a madman for thy Fool at court ! " 
And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the j^opulace. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 23 

In solemn state the Holy Week went by, 
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; 
The .presence of the Angel, with its light, 
Before the sun rose, made the city bright, 
And with new fervor filled the hearts of men. 
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 
Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, 
With haggard eyes the unwonted sjjlendor saw, 
He felt within a power unfelt before. 
And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, 
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 
Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. 
And now the visit ending, and once more 
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, 
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again 
The land was made resplendent with his train. 
Flashing along the towns of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 
And when once more within Palermo's wall. 
And, seated on the throne in his great hall, 
He heard the Angelus from convent towers. 
As if the better world conversed with ours, 
He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, 
And with a gesture bade the rest retire ; 
And when they were alone, the Angel said, 
" Art thou the King ? " Then, bowing down his head. 
King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast. 
And meekly answered him : " Thou knowest best ! 
My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence. 
And in some cloister's school of penitence. 
Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven. 
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven ! " 



24 HENRY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face 
A holy light illumined all the place, 
And through the open window, loud and clear, 
They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, 
Above the stir and tumult of the street : 
" He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree ! " 
And through the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single string: 

" I am an Angel, and thou art the King ! " 
King Robert, who was standing near the throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! 
But all apparelled as in days of old. 
With ermine mantle and with cloth of gold ; 
And when his courtiers came, they found him there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. 



THE POET'S TALE. 

THE BIRDS OP KILLINGWORTH. 

It was the season, when through all the land 
The merle and mavis build, and building sing 

Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand, 

Whom Saxon Ctedmon calls the Blithe-heart King ; 

When on the boughs the purple buds expand, 
The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, 

And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, 

And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. 

The robin and the bluebird, pipiug loud, 

Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee; 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 25 

The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud 
Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; 

And hungry crows assembled in a crowd, 
Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, 

Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said : 
" Give us, Lord, this day our daily bread ! " 

Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed. 

Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet 

Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed 

The village with the cheers of all their fleet ; 

Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed 
Like foreign sailors, landed in the street 

Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise 

Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and boys. 

Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, 
In fabulous days, some hundred years ago ; 

And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, 
Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, 

That mingled with the universal mirth, 
Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe ; 

They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words 

To swift destruction the whole race of birds. 

And a town meeting was convened straightway 

To set a price upon the guilty heads 
Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay. 

Levied black-mail upon the garden beds 
And cornfields, and beheld without dismay 

The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds ; 
The skeleton that waited at their feast. 
Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. 



26 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Then from his house, a temple painted white, 
With fluted cohmms, and a roof of red, 

The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight! 
Slowly descending, with majestic tread, 

Three flights of stejDS, nor looking left nor right, 
Down the long street he walked, as one who said, 
" A town that boasts inhabitants like me 

Can have no lack of good society ! " 

The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere. 
The instinct of whose nature was to kill ; 

The wrath of God he preached from year to year. 
And read, with fervor, Edwards on the AVill ; 

His favorite pastime was to slay the deer 
In Summer on some Adirondac hill; 

E'en now, while walking down the rural lane, 

He lopped the wayside lilies with hio cane. 

From the Academy, whose belfry crowned 

The hill of Science with its vane of brass, 
Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round. 
Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, 
And all absorbed in reveries profound 
Of fair Almira in the upper class. 
Who was, as in a sonnet he had said. 
As pure as water, and as good as bread. 

And next the Deacon issued from his door. 
In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow ; 

A suit of sable bombazine he wore ; 
• His form was ponderous, and his step was slow ; 

There never was so wise a man before ; 

He seemed the incarnate " Well, I told you so ! " 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 27 

And to perpetuate liis great renown 

There was a street named after him in town. 

These came together in the new town-hall, 
With sundry farmers from the region round. 

The Squire j^resided, dignified and tall, 

His air impressive and his reasoning sound ; 

111 fared it with the birds, both great and small; 
Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, 

But enemies enough, who every one 

Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. 

When they had ended, from his place apart, 
Eose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong, 

And, trembling like a steed before tlie start, 

Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng ; 

Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart 

To speak out what was in him, clear and strong. 

Alike regardless of their smile or frown. 

And quite determined not to be laughed down. 

" Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, 

From his Republic banished without pity 

The Poets ; in this little town of yours, 

You put to death, by means of a Committee, 

The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, 
The street-musicians of the heavenly city, 

The birds, who make sweet music for us all 

In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. 

"The thrush that carols at the dawn of day 
From the green steeples of the piny wood; 



28 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, 

Jargoning like a foreigner at his food ; 
The bluebird balanced on some topmost spray, 

Flooding with melody the neighborhood ; 
Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng 
That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song. 

" You slay them all ! and wherefore ? for the gain 
Of a scant handful more or less of wheat. 

Or rye, or barley, or some other grain. 

Scratched up at random by industrious feet, 

Searching for worm or weevil after rain ! 
Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet 

As are the songs these uninvited guests 

Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. 

" Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these ? 

Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught 
The dialect they speak, where melodies 

Alone are the interpreters of thought ? 
Whose household words are songs in many keys, 

Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught ! 
Whose habitations in the tree-tops even 
Are half-way houses on the road to heaven ! 

" Think, every morning when the sun peeps through 
The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove. 

How jubilant the happy birds renew 
Their old, melodious madrigals of love ! 

And when you think of this, remember too 
'T is always morning somewhere, and above 

The awakening continents, from shore to shore, 

Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 29 

" Think of your woods and orchards without birds ! 

Of empty nests that ding to boughs and beams 
As in an idiot's brain remembered words 

Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams ! 
Will bleat of flocks or bellowing herds 

Make up for the lost music, when your teams 
Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more 
The feathered gleaners follow to your door ! 

" What ! would you rather see the incessant stir 
Of insects in the windrows of the hay, 

And hear the locust and the grasshopper 
Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play ! 

Is this more pleasant to you than the whir 
Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roundelay, 

Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take 

Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake ? 

" You call them thieves and pillagers ; but know. 
They are the winged wardens of your farms, 

Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe. 
And from your harvests keep a hundred harms ; 

Even the blackest of them all, the crow. 
Renders good service as your man-at-arms, 

Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail. 

And crying havoc on the slug and snail. 

"How can I teach your children gentleness, 
And mercy to the weak, and reverence 

For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, 
Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence. 

Or Death, which, seeming dai'kness, is no less 
The selfsame light, although averted hence, 



30 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, 
You contradict the very things I teach ? " 

"With this he closed ; and- through the audience went 
A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves ; 

The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent 
Their yellow heads together like their sheaves ; 

Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment 

Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. 

The birds were doomed ; and, as the record shows, 

A bounty offered for the heads of crows. 

There was another audience out of reach. 
Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, 

But in the papers read his little speech. 

And crowned his modest temples Avith applause ; 

They made him conscious, each one more than each. 
He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. 

Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, 

O fair Almira at the Academy ! 

And so the dreadful massacre began ; 

O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests, 
The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. 

Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, 
Or wounded crept away from sight of man, 

While the young died of famine in their nests ; 
A slaughter to be told in groans, not words. 
The very St. Bartholomew of Birds ! 

The Summer came, and all the birds were dead ; 
The days were like hot coals ; the very gi'ound 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 31 

Was burned to ashes ; in the orchards fed 

Myriads of caterpillars, and around 
The cultivated fields and garden beds 

Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found 
No foe to check their march, till they had made 
The land a desert without leaf or shade. 

Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town, 

Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly 
Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down 

The canker-worms upon the passers-by. 
Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown, 

"Who shook them off with just a little cry ; 
They were the terror of each favorite walk, 
The endless theme of all the village talk, 

The farmers grew impatient, but a few 

Confessed their error, and would not complain. 

For after all, the best thing one can do 
When it is raining, is to let it rain. 

Then they repealed the law, although they knew 
It would not call the dead to life again ; 

As school-boys, finding their mistake too late. 

Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. 

That year in Killingworth the. Autumn came 

Without the light of his majestic look, 
The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, 

The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book. 
A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame. 

And drowned themselves despairing in the brook. 
While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, 
Lamenting the dead children of the air ! 



32 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen, 
A sight that never yet by bard was sung, 

As great a wonder as it would have been 
If some dumb animal had found a tongue ! 

A wagon, overarched with evergreen, 

Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, 

All full of singing birds, came down the street. 

Filling the air with music wild and sweet. 

From all the country round these birds were brought, 
By order of the town, with anxious quest, 

And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought 
In woods and fields the places they loved best, 

Singing loud canticles, which many thought 
Were satires to the authorities addressed, 

While others, listening in green lanes, • averred 

Such lovely music never had been heard ! 

But blither still and louder carolled they 
Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know 

It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, 
And everywhere, around, above, below, 

When the Preceptor bore his bride away. 
Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, 

And a new heaven bent over a new earth. 

Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. 

FINALE. 

The hour was late ; the fire burned low. 
The Landlord's eyes were closed in sleep, 
And near the story's end a deep 
Sonorous sound at times was heard, 
As when the distant bagpipes blow. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 83 

At this all laughed ; the Landlord stirred, 
As one awaking from a swound, 
And, gazing anxiously around, 
Protested that he had not slept, 
But only shut his eyes, and kept 
His ears attentive to each word- 
Then all arose, and said " Good Night." 
Alone remained the drowsy Squire 
To rake the embers of the fire. 
And quench the waning parlor light; 
While from the windows, here and there, 
The scattered lamps a moment gleamed. 
And the illumined hostel seemed 
The constellation of the Bear, 
Downward, athwart the misty air, 
Sinking and setting toward the sun. 
Far off the village clock struck one. 



PART SECOND. 



PRELUDE. 

A COLD, uninterrupted rain, 
That washed each southern window-pane, 
And made a river of the road ; 
A sea of mist that overflowed 
The house, the barns, the gilded vane. 
And drowned the upland and the plain, 
Through which the oak-trees, broad and high, 
Like phantom ships went drifting by ; 
3 



34 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

And, hidden behind a watery screen, 
The sun unseen, or only seen 
As a faint pallor in the sky ; — 
Thus cold and colorless and gray, 
The morn of that autumnal day. 
As if reluctant to begin, 
Dawned on the silent Sudbury Inn, 
And all the guests that in it lay. 

Full late they slept. They did not hear 
The challenge of Sir Chanticleer, 
Who on the empty threshing-floor. 
Disdainful of the rain outside. 
Was strutting with a martial stride, 
As if upon his thigh he wore 
The famous broadsword of the Squire, 
And said, " Behold me, and admire ! " 

Only the Poet seemed to hear. 

In drowse or dream, more near and near 

Across the border-land of sleep 

The blowing of a blithesome horn. 

That laughed the dismal day to scorn ; 

A splash of hoofs and rush of wheels 

Through sand and mire like stranding keels. 

As from the road with sudden sweep 

The Mail drove up the little steep. 

And stopped beside the tavern door ; 

A moment stopped, and then again 

With crack of whip and bark of dog 

Plunged forward through the sea of fog. 

And all was silent as before, — 

All silent save the dripping rain. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 35 

Then one by one the guests came down, 
And greeted with a smile the Squire, 
Who sat before the parlor fire, 
Reading the paper fresh from town. 
First the Sicilian, like a bird, 
Before his form appeared, was heard 
Whistling and singing down the stair ; 
Then came the Student, with a look 
As placid as a meadow-brook ; 
The Theologian, still perplexed 
With thoughts of this world and the next ; 
The Poet then, as one who seems 
Walking in visions and in dreams ; 
Then the Musician, like a fair 
Hyperion from whose golden hair 
The radiance of the morning streams ; 
And last the aromatic Jew 
Of Alicant, who, as he threw 
The door wide open, on the air 
Breathed round about him a perfume 
Of damask roses in full bloom, 
Making a garden of the room. 

The breakfast ended, each pursued 
The pi'omptings of his various mood ; 
Beside the fire in silence smoked 
The taciturn, impassive Jew, 
Lost in a pleasant revery ; 
While, by his gravity provoked, 
His portrait the Sicilian drew. 
And wrote beneath it " Edrehi, 
At the Red Horse in Sudbury." 



86 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

By far the busiest of them all, 

The Theologian in the hall 

"Was feeding robins in a cage, — • 

Two corpulent and lazy birds, 

Vagrants and pilferers at best, 

If one might trust the hostler's words, 

Chief instrument of their arrest; 

Two poets of the Golden Age, 

Heirs of a boundless heritage 

Of fields and orchards, east and west, 

And sunshine of long summer days. 

Though outlawed now and dispossessed ! — 

Such was the Theologian's phrase. 



Meanwhile the Student held discourse 

With the Musician, on the source 

Of all the legendary lore 

Among the nations, scattered wide 

Like silt and seaweed by the force 

And fluctuation of the tide ; 

The tale repeated o'er and o'er, 

With change of place and change of name. 

Disguised, transformed, and yet the same 

We 've heard a hundred times before. 

The Poet at the window mused. 
And saw, as in a dream confused. 
The countenance of the Sun, discrowned, 
And haggard with a pale despair. 
And saw the cloud-rack trail and drift 
Before it, and the trees uplift 
Their leafless branches, and the air 
Filled with the arrows of the rain, 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 37 

And heard amid the mist below, 
Like voices of distress and pain, 
That haunt the thoughts of men insane, 
The fateful cawings of the crow. 

Then down the road, with mud besprent, 
And drenched with rain from head to hoof. 
The rain-drops dripping from his mane 
And tail as from a pent-house roof, 
A jaded horse, his head down bent, 
Passed slowly, limping as he went. 

The young Sicilian — who had grown 
Impatient longer to abide 
A prisoner, greatly mortified 
To see completely overthrown 
His plans for angling in the brook, 
And, leaning o'er the bridge of stone. 
To watch the speckled trout glide by, 
And float through the inverted sky, 
Still round and round the baited hook — 
Now paced the room with rapid stride, 
And, pausing at the Poet's side. 
Looked forth, and saw the wretched steed, 
And said : " Alas for human greed, 
That with cold hand and stony eye 
Thus turns an old friend out to die. 
Or beg his food from gate to gate ! 
This brings a tale into my mind, 
Which, if you are not disinclined 
To listen, I will now relate." 

All gave assent ; all wished to hear, 
Not without many a jest and jeer, 



38 HENRY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 

The story of a spavined steed ; 
And even the Student with the rest 
Put in his pleasant little jest 
Out of Malherbe, that Pegasus 
Is but a horse that with all speed 
Bears poets to the hospital ; 
While the Sicilian, self-possessed, 
After a moment's interval 
Began his simple story thus. 



THE SICILIAN'S (SECOND) TALE. 

THE BELL OF ATRI. 

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town 
Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, 
One of those little places that have run 
Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun, 
And then sat down to rest, as if to say, 
" I climb no farther upward, come what may," — 
The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame. 
So many monarchs since have borne the name. 
Had a great bell hung in the market-place 
Beneath a roof, projecting some small space, 
By way of shelter from the sun and rain. 
Then rode he through the streets with all his train. 
And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long, 
Made proclamation, that whenever wrong 
Was done to any man, he should but ring 
The great bell in the square, and he, the King, 
Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. 
Such was the proclamation of King John. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 39 

How swift the happy clays in Atri sped, 

"What wrongs were righted, need not here be said. 

Suffice it that, as all things must decay, 

The hempen rope at length was worn away, 

Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand, 

Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand, 

Till one, who noted this in passing by. 

Mended the rope with braids of briony, 

So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine 

Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. 

By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt 
A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt. 
Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods, 
Who loved his falcons with their crimson hoods, 
Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports 
And prodigalities of camps and courts ; — 
Loved, or had loved them ; for at last, grown olr], 
His only passion was the love of gold. 

He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds, 
Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds, 
Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all. 
To starve and shiver in a naked stall. 
And day by day sat brooding in his chair. 
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare. 

At length he said : " What is the use or need 
To keep at my own cost this lazy steed. 
Eating his head off in my stables here, 
When rents are low and provender is dear ? 
Let him go feed upon the public ways ; 
I want him only for the holidays." 



40 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

So the old steed was turned into the heat 
Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street ; 
And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn. 
Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn. 

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime 
It is the custom in the summer time, 
With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, 
The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed ; 
When suddenly upon their senses fell 
The loud alarum of the accusing bell ! 
The Syndic started from his deep repose, 
Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose 
And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace 
Went joanting forth into the market-place, 
Where the great bell upon its cross-beam swung 
Reiterating with persistent tongue, 
In half-articulate jargon, the old song : 
" Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong ! " 

But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade 
He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade, 
No shape of human form of woman born, 
But a poor steed dejected and forlorn, 
Who with uplifted head and eager eye 
Was tugging at the vines of briony. 
" Domeneddio ! " cried the Syndic straight, 
" This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state ! 
He calls for justice, being sore distressed, 
And pleads his cause as loudly as the best." 

Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd 
Had rolled together like a summer cloud, 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 41 

And told the story of the wretched beast 

In five-and-twenty different ways at least, 

With much gesticulation and appeal 

To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal. 

The Knight was called and questioned ; in reply 

Did not confess the fact, did not deny ; 

Treated the matter as a pleasant jest, 

And set at naught the Syndic and the rest. 

Maintaining, in an angry undertone. 

That he should do what jjleased him with his own. 

And thereupon the Syndic gravely read 
The proclamation of the King ; then said : 
" Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay, 
But Cometh back on foot, and begs its way ; 
Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds. 
Of flowers of chivalry and not of weeds ! 
These are familiar proverbs ; but I fear 
They never yet have reached your knightly ear. 
What fair renown, what honor, what repute 
Can come to you from starving this poor brute ? 
He who serves well and speaks not, merits more 
Than they who clamor loudest at the door. 
Therefore the law decrees that as this steed 
Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed 
To comfort his old age, and to provide 
Shelter in stall, and food and field beside." 

The Knight withdrew abashed ; the people all 
Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. 
The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee. 
And cried aloud : " Right well it pleaseth me ! 
Church-bells at best but ring us to the door ; 



42 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

But go not in to mass ; my bell doth more : 
It Cometh into court and pleads the cause 
Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws ; 
And this shall make, in every Christian clime, 
The Bell of Atri famous for all time." 



THE POET'S (SECOND) TALE. 

LADY WENTWORTH. 

One hundred years ago, and something more, 
In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at her tavern door. 
Neat as a pin, and blooming as a rose. 
Stood Mistress Stavers in her furbelows, 
Just as her cuckoo-clock was striking nine. 
Above her head, resplendent on the sign, 
The portrait of the Earl of Halifax, 
In scarlet coat and periwig of flax, 
Surveyed at leisure all her varied charms, 
Her cap, her bodice, her white folded arms, 
And half resolved, though he was past his prime, 
And rather damaged by the lapse of time. 
To fall down at her feet, and to declare 
The passion that had driven him to despair. 
For from his lofty station he had seen 
Stavers, her husband, dressed in bottle-green, 
Drive his new Flying Stage-coach, four in hand, 
Down the long lane, and out into the land. 
And knew that he was far upon the way 
To Ipswich and to Boston on the Bay ! 

Just then the meditations of the Earl 
Were interrupted by a little girl, 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 43 

Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair. 
Eyes full of laughter, neck and shoulders bare, 
A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon, 
Sure to be rounded into beauty soon, 
A creature men would worship and adore, 
Though now in mean habiliments she bore 
A pail of water, dripping, through the street. 
And bathing, as she went, her naked feet. 

It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — 

The slender form, the delicate, thin face ; 

The swaying motion, as she hurried by ; 

The shining feet, the laughter in her eye, 

That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced, 

As in her \)sa\ the shifting sunbeam danced : 

And with uncommon feelings of delight 

The Earl of Halifax beheld the sight. 

Not so Dame Stavers, for he heard her say 

These words, or thought he did, as plain as day : 

" O Martha Hilton ! Fie ! how dare you go 
About the town half dressed, and looking so ! " 
At which the gypsy laughed, and straight replied: 

" No matter how I look ; I yet shall ride 
In my own chariot, ma'am." And on the child 
The Earl of Halifax benignly smiled. 
As with her heavy burden she passed on, 
Looked back, then turned the corner, and was gone. 

What next, upon that memorable day, 
Arrested his attention was a gay 
And brilliant equipage, that flashed and spun, 
The silver harness glittering in the sun. 
Outriders with red jackets, lithe and lank, 



44 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Pounding the saddles as they rose and sank, 
While all alone within the chariot sat 
A portly person Avith three-cornered hat, 
A crimson velvet coat, head high in air. 
Gold-headed cane, and nicely powdered hair, 
And diamond buckles sparkling at his knees, 
Dignified, stately, florid, much at ease. 
Onward the pageant swept, and as it passed. 
Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low and fast ; 
For this was Governor Wentworth, driving down 
To Little Harbor, just beyond the town. 
Where his Great House stood looking out to sea, 
A goodly place, where it was good to be. 

It was a pleasant mansion, an abode 

Near and yet hidden from the great high-road, 

Sequestered among trees, a noble pile. 

Baronial and colonial in its style ; 

Gables and dormer-windows everywhere. 

And stacks of chimneys rising high in air, — 

Pandean pipes, on which all winds that blew 

Made mournful music the whole winter through. 

Within, unwonted splendors met the eye, 

Panels, and floors of oak, and tapestry ; 

Carved chimney-pieces, where on brazen dogs 

Revelled and roared the Christmas fires of logs ; 

Doors opening into darkness unawares, 

Mysterious passages, and flights of stairs ; 

And on the walls, in heavy gilded frames. 

The ancestral Wentworths with Old-Scripture names. 

Such was the mansion where the great man dwelt, 
A widower and childless ; and he felt 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 45 

The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom, 
That like a presence haunted every room ; 
For though not given to weakness, he could feel 
The pain of wounds, that ache because they heal. 

The years came and the years went, — seven in all, 
And passed in cloud and sunshine o'er the Hall ; 
The dawns their splendor through its chambers shed. 
The sunsets flushed its western windows red ; 
The snow was on its roofs, the wind, the rain ; 
Its woodlands were in leaf and bare again ; 
Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs bloomed and died. 
In the broad river ebbed and flowed the tide. 
Ships went to sea, and ships came home from sea. 
And the slow years sailed by and ceased to be. 

And all these years had Martha Hilton served 

In the Great House, not wholly unobserved : 

By day, by night, the silver crescent grew. 

Though hidden by clouds, her light still shining through ; 

A maid of all work, whether coarse or fine, 

A servant who made service seem divine ! 

Through her each room was fair to look upon ; 

The mirrors glistened, and the brasses shone, 

The very knocker on the outer door. 

If she but passed, was brighter than before. 

And now the ceaseless turning of the mill 
Of Time, that never for an hour stands still, 
Ground out the Governor's sixtieth birthday. 
And powdered his brown hair with silver-gray. 
The robin, the forerunner of the spring. 
The bluebird with his jocund carolling. 



46 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

The restless swallows building in the eaves, 
The golden buttercups, the grass, the leaves, 
The lilacs tossing in the winds of May, 
All welcomed this majestic holiday ! 
He gave a splendid banquet, served on plate. 
Such as became the Governor of the State, 
"Who represented England and the King, 
And was magnificent in everything. 
He had invited all liis friends and peers, — 
The Pepperels, the Langdons, and the Lears, 
The Sparhawks, the Penhallows,. and the rest; 
For why repeat the name of every guest ? 
But I must mention one, in bands and gown, 
The rector there, the Reverend Arthur Brown 
Of the Established Church ; with smiling face 
He sat beside the Governor and said grace ; 
And then the feast went on, as others do, 
But ended as none other I e'er knew. 

When they had drunk the King, with many a cheer. 

The Governor whispered in a servant's ear. 

Who disappeared, and presently there stood 

Within the room, in perfect womanhood, . 

A maiden, modest and yet self-possessed, 

Youthful and beautiful, and simply dressed. 

Can this be Martha Hilton ? It must be ! 

Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she ! 

Dowered with the beauty of her twenty years, 

How ladylike, how queenlike she appears ; 

The pale, thin crescent of the days gone by 

Is Dian now in all her majesty ! 

Yet scarce a guest perceived that she was there. 

Until the Governor, rising from his chair, 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 47 

Played slightly with his ruffles, then looked down, 
And said unto the Reverend Arthur Brown : 
" This is my birthday : it shall likewise be 
My wedding-day ; and you shall marry me ! " 

The listening guests were greatly mystified, 
None more so than the rector, who replied : 

"Marry you? Yes, that were a pleasant task. 
Your Excellency ; but to whom? I ask." 
The Governor answered : " To this lady here " ; 
And beckoned Martha Hilton to draw near. 
She came and stood, all blushes, at his side. 
The rector paused. The impatient Governor cried: 

" This is the lady ; do you hesitate ? 
Then I command you as Chief Magistrate." 
The rector read the service loud and clear : 

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here," 
And so on to the end. At his command 
On the fourth finger of her fair left hand 
The Governor placed the ring; and that was all: 
Martha was Lady Wentworth of the Hall! 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. 

THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. 

" Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " 
That is what the Vision said. 

In his chamber all alone, 
Kneeling on the floor of stone. 
Prayed the Monk in deep contrition 
For his sins of indecision. 



48 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Prayed for greater self-denial 
In temptation and in trial ; 
It was noonday by the dial, 
And the IMonk was all alone. 

Suddenly, as if it lightened, 
An unwonted sj^lendor brightened 
All within him and without him 
In that narrow cell of stone ; 
And he saw the Blessed Vision 
Of our Lord, with light Elysian 
Like a vesture wrapjjed about him, 
Like a garment round him thrown. 

Not as crucified and slain, 

Not in agonies of pain, 

Not with bleeding hands and feet, 

Did the Monk his Master see ; 

But as in the village street, 

In the house or harvest-field, 

Halt and lame and blind he healed. 

When he walked in Galilee. 

In an attitude imploring. 

Hands upon his bosom crossed. 

Wondering, worshipping, adoring, 

Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. 

Lord, he thought, in heaven that reiguest, 

Who am I, that thus thou deignest 

To reveal thyself to me ? 

Who am I, that fi'om the centre 

Of thy glory thou shouldst enter 

This poor cell, my guest to be? 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 49 

Then amid his exaltation, 
Loud the convent bell ajjpalling, 
From its belfry calling, calling, 
Rans: through court and corridor 
With persistent iteration 
He had never heard before. 
It was now the appointed hour 
When alike in shine or shower, 
Winter's cold or summer's heat, 
To the convent portals came 
All the blind and halt and lame, 
All the beggars of the street. 
For their daily dole of food 
Dealt them by the brotherhood ; 
And their almoner was he 
Who upon his bended knee, 
Rapt in silent ecstasy 
Of divinest self-surrender. 
Saw the Vision and the Splendor. 
Deep distress and hesitation 
Mingled with his adoration ; 
Should he go, or should he stay ? 
Should he leave the poor to wait 
Hungry at the convent gate, 
Till the Vision passed away? 
Should he slight his radiant guest, 
Slight this visitant celestial, 
For a crowd of ragged, bestial 
Beggars at the convent gate ? 
Would the Vision there remain ? 
Would the Vision come again? 
Then a voice within his breast 
Whispered, audible and clear 
4 



50 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

As if to the outward ear : 
" Do thy duty ; that is best ; 
Leave unto thy Lord the rest ! " 

Straightway to his feet he started, 
And with longing look intent 
On the Blessed Vision bent, 
Slowly from his cell departed, 
Slowly on his errand went. 

At the gate the poor were waiting, 
Looking through the iron grating. 
With that terror in the eye 
That is only seen in those 
Who amid their wants and woes 
Hear the sound of doors that close, 
And of feet that pass them by; 
Grown familiar with disfavor, 
Grown familiar with the savor 
Of the bread by which men die ! 
But to-day, they knew not why, 
Like the gate of Paradise 
Seemed the convent gate to rise, 
Like a sacrament divine 
Seemed to them the bread and wine. 
In his heart the Monk was praying. 
Thinking of the homeless poor. 
What they suffer and endure; 
What we see not, what we see ; 
And the inward voice was saying: 
" Whatsoever thing thou doest 
To the least of mine and lowest, 
That thou doest unto me! " 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 51 

Unto me ! but had the Vision 
Come to him in beggar's clothing, 
Come a mendicant imploring, 
"Would he then have knelt adoring, 
Or have listened with derision, 
And have tui-ned away with loathing ? 

Thus his conscience put the question, 
Full of troublesome suggestion. 
As at length, with hurried pace, 
Towards his cell he turned his face, 
And beheld the convent bright 
With a supernatural light. 
Like a luminous cloud expanding 
Over floor and wall and ceiling. 

But he paused with awe-struck feeling 
At the threshold of his door, 
For the Vision still was standing 
As he left it there before. 
When the convent bell appalling. 
From its belfry calling, calling. 
Summoned him to feed the poor. 
Through the long hour intervening 
It had waited his return. 
And he felt his bosom burn, 
Comjirehending all the meaning, 
When the Blessed Vision said, 
" Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " 



52 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

THE STUDENT'S TALE. 

THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 

Baron Casting of St. Castine 

Has left his cliateau in the Pyrenees, 

And sailed across the western seas. 

When he went away from his fair demesne 

The birds were building, the woods were green ; 

And now the winds of winter blow 

Round the turrets of the old chateau, 

The birds are silent and unseen, 

The leaves lie dead in the ravine, 

And the Pyrenees are white with snow. 

His father, lonely, old, and gray, 

Sits by the fireside day by day, 

Thinking ever one thought of care ; 

Through the southern windows, narrow and tall. 

The sun shines into the ancient hall. 

And makes a glory round his hair. 

The house-dog, stretched beneath his chair, 

Groans in his sleep as if in pain, 

Then wakes, and yawns, and sleej^s again. 

So silent is it everywhere, — 

So silent you can hear the mouse 

Run and rummage along the beams 

Behind the wainscot of the wall ; 

And the old man rouses from his dreams. 

And wanders restless through the house. 

As if he heard strange voices call. 

His footsteps echo along the floor 

Of a distant passage, and pause awhile ; 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 53 

He is standing by an open door 
Looking long, witli a sad, sweet smile, 
Into the room of his absent son. 
There is the bed on which he lay, 
There are the j)ictures bright and gay, 
Horses and hounds and sun-lit seas ; 
There are his powder-flask and gun, 
And his hunting knives in shape of a fan ; 
The chair by the window where he sat. 
With the clouded tiger-skin for a mat. 
Looking out on the Pyrenees, 
Looking out on Mount Marbore 
And the Seven Valleys of Lavedan. 
Ah me ! he turns away and sighs ; 
There is a mist before his eyes. 

At night, whatever the weather be, 
Wind or rain or starry heaven, 
Just as the clock is striking seven. 
Those who look from the windows see 
The village Curate, with lantern and maid. 
Come through the gateway from the park 
And cross the courtyard dam^) and dark,. — 
A ring of light in a ring of shade. 

And now at the old man's side he stands, 
His voice is cheery, his heart expands, 
He gossips pleasantly, by the blaze 
Of the fire of fagots, about old days. 
And Cardinal Mazarin and the Fronde,^ 
And the Cardinal's nieces fair and fond. 
And what they did, and what they said, 
When they heard his Eminence was dead. 
1 The Opposition party under Mazarin, 1 G48. 



54 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

And after a j)ause the old man says, 

His mind still coming back again 

To the one sad thought that haunts his brain, 

" Are there any tidings from over sea ? 
Ah, why has that wild boy gone from me ? " 
And the Curate answers, looking down. 
Harmless and docile as a lamb, 

•' Young blood ! young blood ! It must so be ! " 
And draws from the pocket of his gown 
A handkerchief like an oriflamb, 
And wipes his spectacles, and they play 
Their little game of lansquenet 
In silence for an hour or so, 
Till the clock at nine strikes loud and clear 
From the village lying asleep below, 
And across the courtyard, into the dark 
Of the winding pathway in the park. 
Curate and lantern disappear. 
And darkness reigns in the old chateau. 

The ship has come back from over sea, 
She has been signalled from below, 
And into the harbor of Bordeaux 
She sails with her gallant company. 
But among them is nowhere seen 
The brave young Baron of St. Castine ; 
He hath tarried behind, I ween, 
In the beautiful land of Acadie ! 

And the father paces to and fro 
Through the chambers of the old chateau, 
Waiting, waiting to hear the hum 
Of wheels on the road that runs below. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 55 

Of servants hurrying here and there. 
The voice in the courtyard, the step on the stair, 
■ Waiting for some one who doth not come ! 
But letters there are, which the old man reads 
To the Curate, when he comes at night, 
"Word by word, as an acolyte 
Repeats his prayers and tells his beads ; 
Letters full of the rolling sea, 
Full of a young man's joy to be 
Abroad in the world, alone and free ; 
Full of adventures and wonderful scenes 
Of hunting the deer through forests vast 
In the royal grant of Pierre du Gast ; 
Of nights in the tents of the Tarratines ; 
Of Madocawando the Indian chief, 
And his daughters, glorious as queens, 
And beautiful beyond belief ; 
And so soft the tones of their native tongue, 
The words are not spoken, they are sung ! 

And the Curate listens, and smiling says : 
" Ah yes, dear friend ! in our young days 
We should have liked to hunt the deer 
All day amid those forest scenes, 
And to sleep in the tents of the Tarratines ; 
But now it is better sitting here 
Within four walls, and without the fear 
Of losing our hearts to Indian queens ; 
For man is fire and woman is tow. 
And the Somebody comes and begins to blow." 
Then a gleam of distrust and vague surmise 
Shines in the father's gentle eyes, 
As fire-light on a window-pane 



56 HENRY. WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Glimmers and vanishes again ; 
But naught he answers ; he only sighs, 
And for a moment bows his head ; 
Then, as their custom is, they play 
Their little game of lansquenet. 
And another day is with the dead. 

Another day, and many a day 

And many a week and month dej)art. 

When a fatal letter wings its way 

Across the sea, like a bird of prey, 

And strikes and tears the old man's heart. 

Lo ! the young Baron of St. Castiue, 

Swift as the wind is, and as wild, 

Has married a dusky Tarratine, 

Has married Madocawando's child ! 

The letter drops from the father's hand ; 
Though the sinews of his heart are wrung. 
He utters no cry, he breathes no prayer,. 
No malediction falls from his tongue; 
But his stately figure, erect and grand, 
Bends and sinks like a column of sand 
In the whirlwind of his great despair. 
Dying, yes, dying ! His latest breath 
Of parley at the door of death 
Is a blessing on his wayward son. 
Lower and lower on his breast 
Sinks his gray head ; he is at rest ; 
No longer he waits for any one. 

For many a year the old chateau 
Lies tenantless and desolate ; 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 57 

Rank grasses in the courtyard grow, 
About its gables caws the crow ; 
Only the porter at the gate 
Is left to guard it, and to wait 
The coming of the rightful heir ; 
No other life or sound is there ; 
No more the Curate comes at night. 
No more is seen the unsteady light, 
Threading the alleys of the i:)ark ; 
The windows of the hall are dark. 
The chambers dreary, cold, and bare ! 

At length, at last, when the winter is' past. 

And birds are building, and woods are green, 

With flying skirts is the Curate seen 

Speeding along the woodland way, 

Humming gayly, " No day is so long 

But it comes at last to vesper-song." 

He stops at the porter's lodge to say 

That at last the Baron of St. Castine 

Is coming home with his Indian queen, 

Is coming without a week's delay ; 

And all the house must be swept and clean. 

And all things set in good array ! 

And the solemn porter shakes his head ; 

And the answer he makes is : " Lackaday ! 

We will see, as the blind man said ! " 

Alert since first the day began. 
The cock upon the village church 
Looks northward from its airy perch. 
As if beyond the ken of man 
To see the ships come sailing on, 



58 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

And pass the Isle of Oleron, 
And pass the Tower of Cordouan. 

In the church below is cold in clay 

The heart that would have leaped for joy — 

O tender heart of truth and trust ! — 

To see the coming of that day ; 

In the church below the lips are dust; 

Dust are the hands, and dust the feet, 

That would have been so swift to meet 

The coming of that wayward boy. 

At night the front of the old chateau 

Is a blaze of light above and below ; 

There 's a sound of wheels and hoofs in the street, 

A cracking of whips, and scamper of feet, 

Bells are ringing, and horns are blown, 

And the Baron hath come again to his own. 

The Curate is waiting in the hall. 

Most eager and alive of all 

To welcome the Baron and Baroness ; 

But his mind is full of vague distress, 

For he hath read in Jesuit books 

Of those children of the wilderness, 

And now, good, simple man ! he looks 

To see a painted savage stride 

Into the room, with shoulders bare. 

And eagle feathers in her hair. 

And around her a robe of panther's hide. 

Instead, he beholds with secret shame 
A form of beauty undefined, 
A loveliness without a name, 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 59 

Not of degree, but more of kind ; 

Nor bold nor shy, nor short nor tall, 

But a new mingling of them all. 

Yes, beautiful beyond belief. 

Transfigured and transfused, he sees 

The lady of the Pyrenees, 

The daughter of the Indian chief. 

Beneath the shadow of her hair 

The gold-bronze color of the skin 

Seems lighted by a fire within, 

As when a burst of sunlight shines 

Beneath a sombre grove of pines, — 

A dusky splendor in the air. 

The two small hands, that now are pressed 

In his, seem made to be caressed, 

They lie so warm and soft and still, 

Like birds half hidden in the nest, 

Trustful, and innocent of ill. 

And ah ! he cannot believe his ears 

When her melodious voice he hears 

Speaking his native Gascon tongue ; 

The words she utters seem to be 

Part of some poem of Goudouli, 

They are not spoken, they are sung ! 

And the Baron smiles, and says, " You see, 

I told you but the sim2)le truth ; 

Ah, you may trust the eyes of youth ! " 

Down in the village day by day 

The people gossip in their way, 

And stare to see the Baroness pass 

On Sunday morning to early Mass ; 

And when she kneeleth down to pray. 

They wonder, and whisper together, and say, 



60 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

" Surely this is uo heathen lass ! " 
Aud iu course of time they learn to bless 
The Baron and the Baroness. 

And in course of time the Curate learns 

A secret so dreadful, that by tui'ns 

He is ice aud fire, he freezes and burns. 

The Baron at confession hath said, 

That though this woman be his wife, 

He hath wed her as the Indians wed, 

He hath bought her for a gun and a knife ! 

And the Curate replies : " O profligate, 

O Prodigal Son ! return once more 

To the open arms and the open door 

Of the Church, or ever it be too late. 

Thank God, thy father did not live 

To see what he could not forgive ; 

On thee, so reckless and perverse, 

He left his blessing, not his curse. 

But the nearer the dawn the darker the night. 

And by going wrong all things come right ; 

Things have been mended that were worse, 

And the worse, the uearer they are to mend. 

For the sake of the living and the dead. 

Thou shalt be wed as Christians wed. 

And all things come to a happy end." 

O sun, that followest the night, 
In yon blue sky, serene and pure, 
And pourest thine impartial light 
Alike on mountain and on moor, 
Pause for a moment in thy course, 
Aud bless the bi'idegroom aud the bride ! 
O Gave, that from thy hidden source 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 61 

In yon mysterious mountain-side 
Pursuest thy wandering way alone, 
And leaping down its stejis of stone, 
Along the meadow-lands demure 
Stealest away to the Adour, 
Pause for a moment in thy course 
To bless the bridegroom and the bride ! 

The choir is singing the matin song, 

The doors of the church are ojjened wide, 

The people crowd, and jiress, and throng 

To see the bridegroom and the bride. 

They enter and pass along the nave ; 

They stand upon the father's grave ; 

The bells are ringing soft and slow ; 

The living above and the dead below 

Give their blessing on one and twain ; 

The warm wind blows from the hills of Spain, > 

The birds are building, the leaves are green. 

And Baron Castine of St. Castine 

Hath come at last to his own aoain. 



■' Nunc plaudite ! " the Student cried. 
When he had finished; "now applaud, 
As Roman actors used to say 
At the conclusion of a play ; " 
And rose, and spread his hands abroad. 
And smiling bowed from side to side, 
As one who bears the palm away. 
And generous was the applause and loud. 
But less for him than for the sun. 
That even as the tale was done 



62 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Burst from its canopy of cloud, 

And lit the landscape with the blaze 

Of afternoon on autumn days, 

And filled the room with light, and made 

The fire of logs a painted shade. 

A sudden wind from out the west 
Blew all its trumpets loud and shrill; 
The windows rattled with the blast, 
The oak-trees shouted as it passed, 
And straight, as if by fear possessed, 
The cloud encampment on the hill 
Broke up, and. fluttering flag and tent 
Vanished into the firmament. 
And down the valley fled amain 
The rear of the retreating rain. 

Only far up in the blue sky 

A mass of clouds, like drifted snow 

Suffused with a faint Alpine glow, 

"Was heaped together, vast and high, 

On which a shattered rainbow hung. 

Not rising like the ruined arch 

Of some aerial aqueduct, 

But like a roseate garland plucked 

From an Olympian god, and flung 

Aside in his triumphal march. 

Like prisoners from their dungeon gloom, 
Like birds escajjing from a snare. 
Like school-boys at the hour of play, 
All left at once the iDent-uj) room, 
And rushed into the open air ; 
And no more tales were told that day. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 63 

PART THIRD. 

PRELUDE. 

The evening came ; the golden vane 
A moment in the sunset glanced, 
Then darkened, and then gleamed again, 
As from the east the moon advanced 
And touched it with a softer light ; 
While underneath, with flowing mane, 
Upon the sign the Red Horse pranced, 
And galloped forth into the night. 

But brighter than the afternoon 
That followed the dark day of rain, 
And brighter than the golden vane 
That glistened in the rising moon, 
Within the ruddy fire-light gleamed ; 
And every separate window-pane. 
Backed by the outer darkness, showed 
A mirror, where the flamelets gleamed 
And flickered to and fro, and seemed 
A bonfire lighted in the road. 

Amid the hospitable glow, 
Like an old actor on the stage, 
With the uncertain voice of age. 
The singing chimney chanted low 
The homely songs of long ago. 



64 HENRY IVADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

THE THEOLOGIAN'S (SECOND) TALE. 

ELIZABETH. 
I. 

" Ah, how short are the clays ! How soon the night over- 
takes us ! 

In the old country the twilight is longer ; but here in the 
forest 

Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause in its com- 
ings 

Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and 
the lamplight ; 

Yet how grand is the winter ! How spotless the snow 
is, and perfect ! " 

Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at nightfall to Hannah 

the housemaid, 
As in the farm-house kitchen, that served for kitchen and 

jDarlor, 
By the window she sat with her work, and looked on a 

landscape 
"White as the great white sheet that Peter saw in his 

vision. 
By the four corners let down and descending out of the 

heavens. 
Covered with snow were the forests of pine, and the fields 

and the meadows. 
Nothing was dark but the sky, and the distant Delaware 

flowing 
Down from its native hills, a peaceful and bountiful river. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 65 

Then with a smile on her lips made answer Hannah 

the housemaid : 
" Beautiful winter ! yea, the winter is beautiful, surely. 
If one could only walk like a fly with one's feet on the 

ceiling. 
But the great Delaware River is not like the Thames, as 

we saw it 
Out of our upper windows in Rotherhithe Street in the 

Borough, 
Crowded with masts and sails of vessels coming and going ; 
Here there is nothing but joines, with patches of snow on 

their branches. 
There is snow in the air, and see ! it is falling already ; 
All the roads will be blocked, and I i^ity Joseph to-mor- 
row. 
Breaking his way through the di-ifts, with his sled and 

oxen ; and then, too, 
How in all the world shall we get to Meeting on First- 

Day?" 

But Elizabeth checked her, and answered, mildly re- 
proving : 
" Surely the Lord will provide ; for unto the snow he 
sayeth, 
Be thou on the earth, the good Lord sayeth ; he is it 
Giveth snow like wool, like ashes scatters the hoar-frost." 
So she folded her work and laid it away in her basket. 

Meanwhile Hannah the housemaid had closed and fast- 
ened the shutters, 
Spread the cloth, and lighted the lamp on the table, and 
placed there 
5 



66 HENRY WADSWORTR LONGFELLOW. 

Plates and cups from the dresser, the brown rye loaf, 
and the butter 

Fresh from the dairy, and then, protecting her hand 
with a holder. 

Took from the crane in the chimney the steaming and 
simmering kettle, 

Poised it aloft in the air, and filled up the earthen tea- 
pot, 

Made in Delft, and adorned with quaint and wonderful 
figures. 

Then Elizabeth said, " Lo ! Joseph is long on his 

errand. 
I have sent him away with a hamper of food and of 

clothing 
For the poor in the village. A good lad and cheerful 

is Joseph ; 
In the right place is his heart, and his hand is ready 

and willing." 

Thus in jjraise of her servant she spake, and Hannah 

the housemaid 
Laughed with her eyes, as she listened, but governed 

her tongue, and was silent. 
While her mistress went on : " The house is far from 

the village : 
We should bo lonely here, were it not for Friends that 

in passing 
Sometimes tarry o'ernight, and make us glad by their 

coming." 

Thereupon answered Hannah the housemaid, the thrifty, 
the frugal: 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 67 

"Yea, they come and they tarry, as if thy house were a 
tavern ; 

Open to all are its doors, and they come and go like 
the pigeons 

In and out of the holes of the pigeon-house over the 
hayloft. 

Cooing and smoothing their feathers and basking them- 
selves in the sunshine." 

But in meekness of spirit, and calmly, Elizabeth an- 
swered : 
" All I have is the Lord's, not mine to give or withhold 

it; 
I but distribute his gifts to the poor, and to those of 

his peo^jle 
Who in journeyings often surrender their lives to his 

service. 
His, not mine, are the gifts, and only so far can I make 

them 
Mine, as in giving I add my heart to whatever is given. 
Therefore my excellent father first built this house in 

the clearing ; 
Though he came not himself, I came ; for the Lord was 

my guidance. 
Leading me here for this service. We must not grudge, 

then, to others 
Ever the cup of cold water, or crumbs that fall from 

our table." 

Thus rebuked, for a season was silent the i^enitent house- 
maid ; 
And Elizabeth said in tones even sweeter and softer : 
" Dost thou remember, Hannah, the great May-Meeting in 
London, 



68 HENRY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 

When I was still a child, how we sat in the silent as- 
sembly, 

Waiting upon the Lord in patient and passive submis- 
sion ? 

No one spake, till at length a young man, a stranger, 
John Estaugh, 

Moved by the Si^irit, rose, as if he were John the Apos- 
tle, 

Speaking such words of power that they bowed our hearts, 
as a strong wind 

Bends the grass of the fields, or grain that is ripe for 
the sickle. 

Thoughts of him to-day have been oft borne inward 
upon me, 

Wherefore I do not know ; but strong is the feeling 
within me 

That once more I shall see a face I have never forgot- 
ten." 

II. 

E'en as she spake they heard the musical jangle of 
sleigh-bells, 

First far off, with a dreamy sound and faint in the dis- 
tance. 

Then growing nearer and louder, and turning into the 
farmyard, 

Till it stopped at the door, with sudden cx'eaking of run- 
ners. 

Then there were voices heaixl as of two men talking 
together, 

And to herself, as she listened, upbraiding said Hannah 
the housemaid, 
" It is Joseph come back, and I wonder what stranger is 
with him." 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 69 

Down from its nail she took and lighted the great 

tin lantern 
Pierced with holes, and round, and roofed like the top 

of a lighthouse. 
And went forth to receive the coming guest at the door- 
way, 
Casting iuto the dark a network of glimmer and shadow 
Over the falling snow, the yellow sleigh, and the horses. 
And the forms of men, snow-covered, looming gigantic. 
Then giving Joseph the lantern, she entered the house 

with the stranger. 
Youthful he was and tall, and his cheeks aglow with 

the night air ; 
And as he entered, Elizabeth rose, and, going to meet 

him. 
As if an unseen power had announced and preceded his 

presence, 
And he had come as one whose coming had long been 

expected, 
Quietly gave him her hand, and said, " Thou art wel- 
come, John Estaugh." 
And the stranger replied, with staid and quiet behavior, 
" Dost thou remember me still, Elizabeth ? After so many 
Years have passed, it seemeth a wonderful thing that I 

find thee. 
Surely the hand of the Lord conducted me here to thy 

threshold. 
For as I journeyed along, and jjondered alone and in 

silence 
On his ways, that are past finding out, I saw in the 

snow-mist, 
Seemingly weary with travel, a wayfarer, who by the 

wayside 



70 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Paused and waited. Forthwith I remembered Queen 

Candace's eunuch, 
How on the way that goes down from Jerasalem unto 

Gaza, 
Reading Esaias the Prophet, he journeyed, and sjjake 

unto Philip, 
Praying him to come up and sit in his chariot with him. 
So I greeted the man, and he mounted the sledge be- 
side me, 
And as we talked on the way he told me of thee and 

thy homestead. 
How, being led by the light of the Spirit, that never 

deceiveth. 
Full of zeal for the work of the Lord, thou hadst come 

to this country. 
And I remembered thy name, and thy father and mother 

in England, 
And on my journey have stojiped to see thee, Elizabeth 

Haddon, 
Wishing to strengthen thy hand in the labors of love 

thou art doing." 

And Elizabeth answered with confident voice, and 
serenely 
Looking into his face with her innocent eyes as she 
answered, 
" Surely the hand of the Lord is in it ; his Spirit hath 
led thee 
Out of the darkness and storm to the light and peace 
of my fireside." 

Then, with stamping of feet, the door was opened, and 
Joseph 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 71 

Entered, bearing the lantern, and, carefully blowing the 
light out, 

Hung it up on its nail, and all sat down to their sup- 
per ; 

For underneath that roof was no distmction of persons, 

But one family only, one heart, one hearth, and one 
household. 

"When the suj^per was ended they drew their chairs 

to the fireplace. 
Spacious, open-hearted, profuse of flame and of firewood. 
Lord of forests unfelled, and not a gleaner of fagots, 
Spreading its arms to embrace with inexhaustible bounty 
All who fled from the cold, exultant, laughing at winter ! 
Only Hannah the housemaid was busy in clearing the 

table. 
Coming and going, and bustling about in closet and 

chamber. 

Then Elizabeth told her story again to John Estaugh, 
Going far back to the past, to the early days of her 

childhood ; 
How she had waited and watched, in all her doubts and 

besetments 
Comforted with the extendings and holy, sweet inflow- 
ings 
Of the spirit of love, till the voice imperative sounded, 
And she obeyed the voice, and cast in her lot with her 

people 
Here in the desert land, and God would provide for the 
issue. 

Meanwhile Joseph sat with folded hands, and de- 
murely 



72 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

Listened, ox' seemed to listen, and in the silence that 

followed 
Nothing was heard for awhile but the step of Hannah 

the housemaid 
"Walking the floor overhead, and setting the chambers in 

order. 
And Elizabeth said, with a smile of compassion, " The 

maiden 
Hath a light heart in her breast, but her feet are heavy 

and awkward." 
Inwardly Joseph laughed, but governed his tongue, and 

was silent. 

Then came the hour of sleep, death's counterfeit, 
nightly rehearsal 

Of the great Silent Assembly, the Meeting of shadows, 
where no man 

Speaketh, but all are still, and the peace and rest are 
unbroken ! 

Silently over that house the blessing of slumber de- 
scended. 

But when the morning dawned, and the sun uprose in 
his splendor. 

Breaking his way through clouds that encumbered his 
path in the heavens, 

Joseph was seen with his sled and oxen breaking a path- 
way 

Through the drifts of snow ; the horses already were 
harnessed. 

And John Estaugh was standing and taking leave at 
the threshold, 

Saying that he should return at the Meeting in May ; 
while above them 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 73 

Hannah the housemaid, the homely, was looking out of 

the attic, 
Laughing aloud at Joseph, then suddenly closing the 

casement, 
As the bird in a cuckoo-clock peeps out of its window, 
TBen disappears again, and closes the shutter behind it. 

HI. 

Now was the winter gone, and the snow ; and Eobin 

the Redbreast, 
Boasted on bush and tree it was he, it was he and no 

other 
That had covered with leaves the Babes in the "Wood, 

and blithely 
All the birds sang with him, and little cared for his 

boasting, 
Or for his Babes in the Wood, or the Cruel Uncle, 

and only 
Sang for the mates they had chosen, and cared for the 

nests they were building. 
With them, but more sedately and meekly, Elizabeth 

Haddon 
Sang in her inmost heart, but her lips were silent and 

songless. 
Thus came the lovely spring with a rush of blossoms 

and music, 
Flooding the earth with flowers, and the air with melo- 
dies vernal. 

Then it came to pass, one pleasant morning, that slowly 
Up the road there came a cavalcade, as of pilgrims, 
Men and women, wending their way to the Quarterly 
Meeting 



74 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

In the neighboring town ; and with them came riding 
John Estaugh. 

At Elizabeth's door they stopped to rest, and alighting 

Tasted the currant wine, and the bread of rye, and the 
honey 

Brought from the hives, that stood by the sunny wall 
of the garden ; 

Then remounted their horses, refreshed, and continued 
their journey, 

And Elizabeth with them, and Josejah, and Hannah the 
housemaid. 

But, as they started, Elizabeth lingered a little, and 
leaning 

Over her horse's neck, in a whisper said to John Es- 
taugh : 
" Tarry awhile behind, for I have something to tell thee. 

Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the presence of others ; 

Them it concerneth not, only thee and me it concerneth." 

And they rode slowly along through the woods, con- 
versing together. 

It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of the 
forest ; 

It was a pleasure to live on that bright and happy May 



Then Elizabeth said, though still with a certain re- 
luctance. 
As if impelled to reveal a secret she fain would have 
guarded : 
" I will no longer conceal what is laid upon me to tell 
thee : 
I have received from the Lord a charge to love thee, 
John Estaugh." 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 75 

And John Estaugh made answer, surprised by the 
words she had spoken, 
" Pleasant to me are thy converse, thy ways, thy meek- 
ness of spirit; 

Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and thy soul's immac- 
ulate whiteness. 

Love without dissimulation, a holy and inward adorning. 

But I have yet no light to lead me, no voice to direct 
me. 

When the Lord's work is done, and the toil and the labor 
completed 

He hath appointed to me, I will gather into the still- 
ness 

Of my own heart awhile, and listen and wait for his 
guidance." 

Then Elizabeth said, not troubled nor wounded in 
spirit, 
" So is it best, John Estaugh. 'We will not sjieak of it 
further. 
It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for to-mor- 
row 
Thou art going away, across the sea, and I know not 
When I shall see thee more ; but if the Lord hath de- 
creed it. 
Thou wilt return again to seek me here and to find me." 
And they rode onward in silence, and entered the town 
with the others. 

IV. 

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in 
passing, 

Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the dark- 
ness; 



76 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 

So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, 
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a 
silence. 

Now went on as of old the quiet life of the home- 
stead. 
Patient and unrepining Elizabeth labored, in all things 
Mindful not of herself, but bearing the burdens of others, 
Always thoughtful and kind and untroubled ; and Han- 
nah the housemaid 
Diligent early and late, and rosy with washing and 

scouring, 
Still as of old disparaged the eminent merits of Joseph, 
And was at times reproved for her light and frothy be- 
havior, 
Foi: her shy looks, and her careless words, and her evil 

surmisings, 
Being pressed down somewhat, like a cart with sheaves 

overladen, 
As she would sometimes say to Joseph, quoting the 
Scriptures. 

Meanwhile John Estaugh departed across the sea, and 

departing 
Carried hid in his heart a secret sacred and precious, 
Filling »its chambers with fragrance, and seeming to him 

in its sweetness 
Mary's ointment of spikenard, that filled all the house 

with its odor, 
lost days of delight, that are wasted in doubting and 

waiting ! 
O lost hours and days in which we might have been 

happy! 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 77 

But the light shone at last, and guided his wavering 
footsteps, 

And at last came the voice, imperative, ques tionless cer- 
tain. 

Then John Eistaugh came back o'er the sea for the 
gift that was offered, 

Better than houses and lands, the gift of a woman's af- 
fection. 

And on the First-Day that followed, he rose in the Si- 
lent Assembly, 

Holding in his strong hand a hand that trembled a little, 

Promising to be kind and true and faithful in all things. 

Such were the marriage-rites of John and Elizabeth Es- 
taugh. 

And not otherwise Joseph, the honest, the diligent 
servant. 
Sped in his bashful wooing with homely Hannah the 

housemaid ; 
For when he asked her the question, she answered 

" Nay " ; and then added : 
'But thee may make believe, and see what will come of 
it, Joseph." 



FINALE. 

These are the tales those merry guests 
Told to each other, well or ill ; 
Like summer birds that lift their crests 
Above the borders of their nests 
And twitter, and again are still. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

These are the tales, or new or old, 

In idle moments idly told ; 

Flowers of the field wibli petals thin, 

Lilies that neither toil nor spin, 

And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse 

Hung in the parlor of the inn 

Beneath the sign of the Red Horse. 

And still, reluctant to retire. 

The friends sat talking by the fire 

And watched the smouldering embers burn 

To ashes, and flash up again 

Into a momentary glow, 

Lingering like them when forced to go, 

And going when they would remain ; 

For on the morrow they must turn 

Their faces homeward, and the pain 

Of parting touched with its unrest 

A tender nerve in every breast. 

But sleep at last the victory won ; 
They must be stirring with the sun, 
And drowsily good night they said. 
And went still gossiping to bed, 
And left the parlor wrapped in gloom. 
The only live thing in the room 
"Was the old clock, that in its pace 
Kej^t time with the revolving spheres 
And constellations in their flight, 
And struck with . its uplifted mace 
The dark, unconscious hours of night. 
To senseless and unlistening ears. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 79 

Uiorose the sun ; and every guest, 
Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed 
For journeying home and city-ward ; 
The old stage-coach was at the door, 
Witli horses harnessed, long before 
The sunshine reached the withered sward 
Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar 
Murmured : " Farewell forevermore." 

" Farewell ! " the portly Landlord cried ; 

" Farewell ! " the parting guests replied, 
But little thought that nevermore 
Their feet would pass that thi-eshold o'er ; 
That nevermore together there 
Would they assemble, free from care, 
To hear the oaks' mysterious roar. 
And breathe the wholesome country air. 

Where are they now ? What lands and skies 

Paint pictures in their friendly eyes? 

What hope deludes, what promise cheers, 

What pleasant voices fill their ears ? 

Two are beyond the salt sea waves, 

And three already in their graves. 

Perchance the living still may look 

Into the pages of this book, 

And see the days of long ago 

Floating and fleeting to and fro. 

As in the well-remembered brook 

They saw the inverted landscape gleam. 

And their own faces like a dream 

Look up ujDon tliem from below. 



